Bisected Bloodlines
by GoWithTheFlo20
Summary: It was on July 31st, her seventeenth birthday, a whole year after an unknown illness had first struck her down, that Harriet Potter's heart stopped beating. It was the 3rd of August on which Harriet opened her eyes once more to a whole new world filled with blood, instincts and survival. The life of a Dhampir is never an easy one. Fem!Harry/Godric/Eric.
1. Chapter 1

**BISECTED BLOODLINES.**

 _ **Summary:**_ It was on July 31st, her seventeenth birthday, a whole year after an unknown illness had first struck her down, that Harriet Potter's heart stopped beating. It was on the 3rd of August on which Harriet opened her eyes once more to a whole new world filled with blood, instincts and survival. The life of a Dhampir is never an easy one. Fem!Harry/Godric/Eric.

* * *

 _Prologue:_

 _Hunger._

The first sign that something wasn't quite right with Harriet Lillian Potter was the insatiable hunger. That gnawing monster in the very pit of her stomach, screaming at her to eat, and eat, and eat, and eat. Like most predators, it snuck up on her slowly, irrevocably. Step by step, it took over, consumed her, devoured her every thought. It had been so simple, so innocent in the early days. Just an extra helping of bacon one morning, a second breakfast the next, an added meal here or there. It had been nothing to worry about, like most things in her sixteen years of life, in the beginning. What harm could eating three cheeseburgers in one sitting cause?

But it had not stayed so. Oh, no. Nothing was ever so pure or uncomplicated in Harriet's life. The hunger turned ravenous and no matter how much she ate, her stomach growled and twisted and knotted itself into tangled balls of aching pain. No matter how much she drank, what she drank, it never stopped the burning in her throat, the scorch that trailed a torturous path down her sternum to the inferno and incessant aching of her gut. But, then again, that came later, didn't it? No. In the beginning, she was simply… Hungry. Harriet had grown up hungry. Vernon had made sure of that, and so, what could hunger do to scare her? Nothing. Nothing at all. But it should have.

Fresh from the war that had stripped her of nearly all her friends, her family, her loved ones, Harry had, perhaps ignorantly, pushed away the slight twinge of worry that filled her when those hunger pains first struck. It had been easy, too easy, to formulate excuses that she would later tell herself when she went through three boxes of cereal and five bottles of orange juice. She was just a growing girl, she told herself each meal. Without the stress of war baring down upon her shoulders, perhaps her body was just trying to catch up from years upon years of Petunia's and Vernon's abuse and neglect. She was growing. She was healing. She was becoming who she was supposed to be. She was transforming. That was all… If only she knew how right she had been in the beginning… Yet again, she was jumping ahead of herself.

The hunger and thirst came first, but, as all good misery did, it brought company. She felt… Itchy. It was the only way she could describe it. Her skin felt… Tight, constricting, her clothes chaffed and rubbed her red, or at least, they felt like they did though her skin never flushed. Everything became obnoxiously bright, painfully so in the afternoon when the sun was high. Noises were too loud. Cars from two streets away became deafening. Things, even her beloved tea leaves, smelled foul. Rotten. And by Merlin would she swear she could smell the sweat and stink of the very city itself when the wind blew.

As always, Harry wrote it all off. Nothing was amiss. Not now. Not right after she had defeated Voldemort and finally earned her freedom, her life, to do with as she wished for the very first time. Food poisoning. Infection. Delirium. You name it, Harry blamed it. She just needed time, rest, and most of all… Food and she would be as right as rain by the weeks end. And so, she locked herself away in Grimmauld place, telling anyone who asked the tedious excuse of _I'm feeling a bit under the weather, I'll see you soon._

But then the food stopped working. She would eat, she would scoff, she would pilfer Grimmauld places pantry until not a single crumb was left on a shelf or cupboard and even then, her stomach twisted and churned, burning, aching for something, anything to fill it. Some nights, especially towards the end, she stayed up all night, angry, livid, starving. Some nights, she would trash the place, tip tables, throw paintings and vases, rip the very curtains away from the walls. Some nights she simply rolled herself up into a ball, begging any god, deity, anything to make the pain stop. Most of the time, she just ate, hoping the next meal would fill something, anything.

It was hard to describe, that sort of hunger… Starvation. It was a focal point, all Harry could think, breathe, or act upon. Soon enough, why she was hungry didn't even matter. Only that she _was_ hungry. It nearly stripped her of everything she was, what she was, who she was. All she could focus on was that pain, that hunger. Perhaps it drove her a little mad. Harry could not lie about that. The worst, the very hammer that was beating the nails into her finger nails, was that… Incessant knowledge, that instinct that took root, that Harry knew, just knew, there was something she was missing. Something that would make the hunger and thirst and pain stop. She just couldn't find it.

Of course, within the second month of her self-imposed exile, her friends took notice something was remiss. When Ron and Hermione, against Harry's wishes, dropped by for a surprise visit, they did not miss the trashed rooms, the blacked out windows, the heavy silencing charms, the piles and piles of plates littering the kitchen sink from the beginning, when Harry could be bothered with such a thing as plates and cutlery, nor the overflowing empty food boxes and packages in the over spilling bin Harry had crammed them into. In truth, that had only been a days' worth, she was eating more than she could throw away, and too focused on the gnawing hunger to vanish the rubbish with a flick of her wrist. By that point, she was more beast than witch. One thought swirling around her mind. _Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat._

Nonetheless, true worry, real, inexcusable concern was only given when they caught sight of Harry herself. Her skin had turned ashen, cracked in places, eye sockets blackened and sunken, pupils blown. What greeted Hermione and Ron that day was not their best friend, it wasn't Harry, it was an animal.

Sitting in the middle of Grimmauld's kitchen, surrounded by empty packages, sobbing, half dead already, guzzling down a litre bottle of apple juice as she ranted and raved about how hungry she was… Well, Harry really couldn't blame them for the emergency call they made to Saint Mungo's, nor the 'involuntary commitment' she was put under when she had tried to fight them off to reach more food. Ron, Merlin bless him, had even said she had tried to bite him at one point, and, despite her weakened state, had been faster than expected, only held into place by a well-aimed stupefy by Hermione. Harry couldn't remember any of that though, she only remembered waking up later, strapped to a hospital cot, spelled into subjugation, nurses running around her, lights too bright, sounds too loud, and that damned hunger still clawing at her mind.

She didn't know how long they kept her on that cot, nor under the binding spells and shields, but she knew the pain in her joints, knew the ache in her gums, felt the urge to rip and throw and tear into something, anything. She was cold, so cold, alone, nothing made sense. Soon, she grew too weak even for the binds to be important enough to keep her down, and even if she wanted to, and by all that she stood for, she wanted to, she couldn't even slink herself off the hospital bed. It was then she knew, really knew. It was like a far-off voice, dreamy, peaceful, lulling her to sleep. _She was dying._ If she had the strength, she would have laughed. Third times the charm, they always said.

Still, Saint Mungo's proved to be more in the dark than even she had been. All known wizarding and muggle diseases had been wiped from the equation. Fungal infection had been eradicated. Parasitic contamination had been swept off the board of possibilities within two weeks and everyone, including the specialists they brought in, were left blind. No doubt, they tried to help. But nothing worked. Soon the food they forced down her turned to ash on her tongue. She vomited anything and everything they gave her and no spell, potion or hex could fix it. In fact, it only got worse.

Her sleep, the little she got, began to fluctuate, and like the hunger, it began slowly. She overslept and hour, she woke up in the middle of the night, restless, starving, angry and hurting. She couldn't focus when it was bright, she became drowsy come morn and alive when twilight hit. All too soon, she was passing out without any warning when the sun kissed the horizon and snapping to aching consciousness when the sun said goodnight. If it weren't for the fact that the sun did not burn her, silver did no harm, and all the tests given came back negative for vampiracy, the healers, her friends, and herself included, would have believed she had become one of the undead. However, she had never been bitten, the tests proved that, and neither had she ever been given vampire blood, another in which a spell had confirmed.

Hermione, however, could not let the theory go. There were too many similarities. However, after force feeding Harry some donated blood taken from the local muggle hospital, Saint Mungo's having none in stock for they preferred magic over that strange thing called _science,_ and watching Harry throw it up like a scene from the exorcist, even she was left stumped. It didn't matter at any rate. Harry, by that point, was too far gone.

It was odd, Harry would admit. Dying this way. Slowly withering away. Chipped. All the other times she had died, it had been fast, a flash, quick and easy. Now it took its time. Like death was creeping through her, flicking off certain parts of her, turning the lights out until, surely, at the end, she felt like an empty abandoned house. In those final days, she felt like a infant once more. Nothing external made any sense, words seemed garbled and broken, and all she could focus on was the stuttering of her heart, the missed beats and that frightful hunger.

" _Sanguini, what are you doing here? These are quarantined rooms!"_

Was that Hermione or a nurse? Harry couldn't rightfully tell anymore, nor could she see. Her eyes refused to open any longer. A sharp twist of hope took up home in her chest, but, yet again, she didn't know why. Perhaps she simply didn't want to die alone. Not again. Not surrounded by strangers or enemies. Or without food. She needed food. Merlin, she was hungry… Wait, what was she thinking about again?

" _Do you wish to save your friend or not?"_

That's right, the noises. There was too much now, a shuffle that sounded like concrete grinding, a rush of footsteps that sounded like a stampede. Once again, she tried blink but her eyes stayed stubbornly shut. The sun was rising. It was close. She could _feel_ it. Somehow, someway, she knew it was there, minutes, perhaps half an hour from cresting into the sky. Irrationally, Harry knew she would be dead as soon as the sun graced the sky.

" _What are you doing?!"_

The blistering noise of what sounded like two frozen beef stakes being torn apart rattled through Harry. Something niggled the back of Harry's mind, a tingle and then her nostrils were flaring. _Merlin… It smelled divine…_ Honeysuckle, treacle, cinnamon and something lagging at the edges that smelled like fresh spring rain. _Food._ There was food, she could smell it. Good, filling food… And she was too weak to do anything, to get to it, to feed. She wanted to sob, to yell and lunge, to eat, but her body couldn't move. Life just had to get one more jab in at its favourite fucking punching bag before she dipped and left the game, didn't it? Mother-fucking piece of shitty cunt-

" _Harry… Harry, listen to me… Drink… You have to drink before your heart stops or you won't wake up again… Drink Harry… Drink…"_

 _Drink?_ No, no, no! She was hungry! It smelled like food! She didn't want to drink, she wanted to eat! She wanted to feast! Just one last bite that didn't taste like gritty mud or cold ashes. Just one last joy, just one, before she died. Was she really asking for too much? A cold hand slithered around her neck, cradling before it pulled her up, propping her against something solid, thin… A chest. Her eyes flickered open, but she couldn't hold it.

" _Stop! We've tried that!"_

The body holding her jerked viciously, as if it was tugging her away from something, or someone.

" _She's a Dhampir! She feeds off Vampires, magical beings, not muggles!"_

That marvelous smell grew stronger. Harry felt her skin tighten, her brow… Shifting, her eyes, though shut, searing and finally, there was a throbbing in her mouth before a resounding _clack_ rang out.

" _If she's a Dhampir… Dangerous… Killer… Ministry orders… Execute… Let her die in peace!"_

Something was wrong… No, not wrong, it felt _right_ , but there was something… Different with her mouth. Her teeth felt odd, sensitive, her lip skimmed against something pointed and sharp and it sent a jolt of pain… No, not pain, pleasure through her. Her whole face felt knew, fresh… Real.

" _I'd prefer it if she didn't die at all! I know her father would prefer it that way too! Now Harry, drink! We don't have much time left… Drink… Drink… Drink!"_

James? Her father was here? How… No… Open… Open… Steadily, her eyes fluttered open. The bright light, white and scorching, made her hiss and swear in Parseltongue as she weakly tried to shake her head. Still, she tried to focus, to see, and slowly the white light receded just a fraction. The man, she was sure it was a man that was holding her, never came into focus, and neither did she see the inhabitants of the room. Nonetheless, there was someone standing over her, bearing down, smiling… But it wasn't James Potter.

It was a man she had never seen before, and yet, deep down, Harry knew he wasn't really here either. But he looked real, he _felt_ real, standing there, serenely smiling down at her, haloed by hot, white light. He had a thin face, stern some would say, but the smile softened him exponentially. He had dimples, just like Harry, the left more prominent than the right and his hair, a dark auburn, practically black, just like her own, danced down his forehead, skimming into his blue eyes. There was something familiar there, something visceral and deep and bottomless. He reached down and brushed the very tips of his fingers against her cheekbone, gliding down into her sweaty hair. The trail sparked something inside Harry, like lightning hitting a dim forge, roaring the fire back to life.

 _Go on. Drink. For me._

He had a strange accent, deep, twangy, vowels drawn out and elonganted. But it had something in it, in the grace of the tone, a pit in the words that felt achingly familiar, like a lullaby she had long forgotten. Any further thought on the matter was cut off as a strange, disembodied wrist drifted across the tender flesh of her lips. The smell hit her full forced and what came next was entirely instinctual.

Harry's teeth… Fangs ripped into the soft skin savagely, her hands leaping out to grasp onto the arm like vipers striking as she yanked it closer, gulping at the liquid that began to slip into her mouth. _Morganna, it tasted like heaven._ A noise, thundering, burst from her chest like a triumphant roar. For how long she laid there, tearing into the arm, drinking all she could with a sudden burst of energy she had not felt in months, Harry would not be able to tell you.

Nevertheless, that energy, that wonderous moment of life undulated seeped from her as sleep began to cloak her in a void so barren, so cold, that a moment of fear, poignant terror, seized Harry as she felt herself slipping into it. She fell, head lolling and breathing became something to fight for. Each one ragged, faltering. Then, like a candle being blown out, her heat stopped beating and Harry plummeted into that void.

On July 31st, at only seventeen years old, Harriet Lillian Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, was pronounced dead. Emergency cremation was declared necessary for her remains, and Sanguini was lead from the room, albeit, he went missing from custody before the hour passed. Dragon Pox was announced as the culprit, and Harry was mourned by those who held her dear. However, her body disappeared from the morgue an hour before cremation could take place, and no one was none the wiser that they were mourning over a jar of goat ashes. It was only idly noted by the daily prophet that both Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were missing from the funeral, although they had spun it as the two being deeply hurt by the loss of their friend, and when the two appeared together four days later, chatter about the whole incident died down.

By the 3rd of August, stashed away in the back of a moving van speeding down a highway, far away from the only world Harry had ever known, distanced from any friends, memories or familiarity, with Sanguini hovering over her prone form, Harriet's eyes snapped open to a whole knew, terrifying, exhilarating life.

"Easy, Harry. You're safe. I'm taking you to your father."

* * *

 **A.N:** I have no idea what this is or if I should continue or not, but it really was fun writing this little prologue up. Originally, I was breezing through some Albanian mythology and folk tales and came across one about Dhampirs, where they could be spotted by their unruly, dark or black hair, along with being shadowless, and the thought just popped into my head, what if Harry was a Dhampir? And well… Whatever this is sprang out from that little idea XD.

To fit this in with the True-bloodverse, I had to juggle Potterverse's timing. So, everything happened exactly the same as the books/movies, only a few years later. So, instead of Harry being born in 1980, He/she was born in 1991. That makes the year she turns seventeen 2008, (if my maths is correct XD). I hope this doesn't bother too many people, but hey, it's fanfiction, I'm having a bit of fun with it lol.

Hopefully you enjoyed this! If you can, drop a review, they really are appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE: AWAKENING**

* * *

 **Harry's P.O.V**

Exogenous. Possessed. Consumed. That was how Harry would describe the first time she awoke to this new life of hers. Unlike popular mythos and folktales, and now pop-culture, there was no beast inside of her, something foreign and salivating, telling her to feed and gorge and she, in her mind, some innocent refusing to. There was no dissociation or separation between old Harry and this new, slightly terrifying version of herself. She _was_ the beast and she _was_ still plain ol' Harry. It was a cruel twist of fate, to be sure, but also, somehow… Liberating.

She wanted to eat. She wanted to feast. It was instinctual, carved into her fucking DNA, and now she knew exactly what she needed to get rid of that hunger, to stave it off. The real problem came when Harry caught a whiff of what it was her body was screaming for coming straight off Sanguini in tongue tingling waves. It was strange, far off inside of herself, Harry knew he was a friend, an ally, but in that moment, if asked, she wouldn't have been able to even tell you her age or name. She only knew she was starving and that, oddly, she didn't have a bloody shadow anymore.

Waking up locked into a frenzy of thirst, fight and survival, dunked into a world where everything seemed equal parts new and tantalizing, versus bewildering and perilous, perhaps Harry could later be forgiven for falling into an instinctual drive of mindless action. After all, you beat and starve a dog long enough… That dog bites back.

Mindless action, as it turned out to be, led to a struggle. A flailing of limbs, the crunch of bone, the click of fangs descending and a humming growl rising from the depths of Harry's sternum. Before she knew it, as half-mad as she was, too consumed with her thirst, something metallic was grinding, there was an almighty lurch and the van they were travelling in barrelled into a tree. From that point until the moment of Harry's newly acquired fangs tearing their way through Sanguini's neck on the edge of a road surrounded by a woods would always be a blur to her, but she had a distinct feeling he had put up a fight and damn… Sickeningly, that made it all the more pleasurable.

The first warm gush of blood that soaked Harry's mouth made her growl, eyes rolling as finally, that thirst turned to a rolling boil rather than an inferno raging inside of her. _More. More. More. More._ It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Drain him dry. Make a husk. Bleed the fucking world. Anything, anything at all to fill that hunger, to slate her thirst, to quieten that urge to hunt. Unfortunately for Harry and her plans of world bloodletting, all too soon, Sanguini's hand had snuck up to the side of her head and she was being launched across the small clearing off to the side of the road.

The crack of a tree meant nothing to her, her answering roar nothing but a subconscious reflex at being denied, the pain flaring up in her back nothing but a distant nuisance. On that first night, everything paled in comparison to the importance, the want, the need for blood. Nothing else mattered. Being driven by something as profound as instinct, it didn't take Harry long to jar herself back up, crouching on her feet, keeping low to the ground, scenting the air, smelling that wonderful smell again, nostrils flaring wide to soak it in, absorb it as she saw Sanguini step closer to her in the moonlight, spotted the blood running down his neck, soaking into his shirt.

It was if she could feel his blood, the thrumming pleasure calling to her, a war drum egging her on, see it pulsing and saturating his oxford shirt, taunting her, begging her with his veins to just… Devour. Right then, right there, everything meant nothing to Harry apart from that blood. She _wanted_ it. She _Needed_ it.

"Harry, calm! This will pass, but you must focus! I know you're thirsty. I know nothing makes sense and I know you're having trouble thinking clearly, but please, you _have_ to try. I'm not your enemy. I'm trying to help you. Don't be scared. This… This is natural. Dhampir's are ravenous for the first few months of their awakening. But I'll help you… You just have to let me."

Harry… Who was Harry again? Her? Yes… Yes. She was Harry. But what did that mean? What did it matter when she was so fucking thirsty? That smell, so fresh, mouth-watering, it was making her feel foggy, disorientated. _Focus._ She was Harry.

"That's it, focus. Remember Hermione? Remember Ron? What about Gryffindor and Quidditch? There you go, focus… Remember."

Hermione, Ron, jumbled faces for jumbled names. Red and gold. Wind in her hair. It was all too jagged, too sharp, it hurt to think. Why did she have to remember? No. She was Harry. Harriet, yes. Hermione, friend. Ron, friend. Not food. No food.

"Keep it up. I promise, you can hunt later. I know it's hard to ignore that drive, that instinct, but for now, you have to."

Harry violently shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the red haze it had fallen to, but it wouldn't budge. She had to be somewhere. She had to go somewhere. She could feel it, something yanking in her chest, dragging her.

"Blood."

It came out more guttural than an actual word, and for a moment, Harry didn't realize that noise had come from her.

"Yes, I know you want it, need it, but not right now Harry. Fight it. Fight that need with everything you have. A Dhampir's hunting instinct and hunger is stronger than a vampire's, but I know, if anyone at all can fight that instinct back, that thirst, just for a few more hours, it's you Harry. So, fight it."

The wind around them, nothing but a light nightly breeze picked up, swung up and around them, dancing through the trees, rattling twigs, bringing something delicious with it. Harry's head snapped to the side, pupils blowing wide, eradicating her iris's as she huffed in a large breath, chest quaking. Vampires… Seven… A mile away… Blood…

"Shit!"

Sanguini swore as he made a dive for the Dhampir. All effort to taper off that thirst, to try and remember, to try and regain her senses, her self-awareness was blown completely away as Harry's thirst renewed itself tenfold under the onslaught of the smell.

"Harry, no!"

But it was too late. She was already gone with the rustling of the trees.

* * *

 **Pam's P.O.V**

Pam Swynford De Beaufort sighed deeply as she flicked the brush of orchid nail polish over her pinky finger. Sitting at the bar of Fangtasia with only Ginger as company, the fangbanger having taken to washing down the tables for the fifth time that night, Pam was more than simply bored. The night had dwindled down to closing time, Fangtasia having to shut its doors to the vampire enthusiasts of Shreveport a few hours early due to her makers Sheriff duties, and Pam couldn't help but feel like everyone, herself included, had fallen into a mundane sort of peaceful routine. It almost made her sick.

Of course, there was still that whiney, dim waitress Sookie Stackhouse her maker, Eric Northman, was interested in. However, a few hours of being in her company had killed any idle interest Pam had originally housed. Furthermore, there was still that vampire, Bill Compton, who was always so fun to rile, in her maker's area, but Pam had not seen hide nor hair of him since she and Eric dropped off his involuntary Childe, Jessica, at his house a week and a half ago when the brat began to annoy them both. So, trying to find any entertainment or enjoyment from antagonizing either Bill, Jessica or Sookie were out of the question.

Now, normally Pam would find a way to find something fun to do with her maker, Eric. However, he had chosen this exact time to start taking his Sheriff duties seriously, almost rigidly so. Pam couldn't blame him really, the vampire queen of Louisiana, Sophie-Anne, was becoming a hassle to deal with, and as a subordinate of hers, Eric had to do what was bid of him. Of course, he didn't really _need_ to do either of those things, as he was older, stronger and quicker witted than that spoiled bitch, but that would mean he would have to take the crown for himself, and that was just something he wasn't willing to do. Not yet at least. Perhaps when Sophie-Anne proved to be more trouble than dealing with her was worth… Until then, however, Pam was left _bored._

So, Pam let it be. She ran the bar as Eric dealt with his pointless, medial tasks unworthy of a thousand year old vampires attention, she mingled with the humans, yes, she shuddered at the thought, and she played at being a good Childe, and it seemed that this insufferable peace and tranquillity would last for another two weeks before that glorious knock at their door came.

Well… Knock wasn't quite the right word. It was more of a bang against the door, a quick rattle of the lock and then the door was being flung open as a vampire stepped in. Plopping the brush back into the bottle of nail varnish, Pam gave one last blow to her finger before she gracefully slid from her seat, coming to face the intruder.

"If you couldn't read the sign, it says we are shut."

She drawled. Still, her noncommittal introduction gave her time to suss the newcomer out. With a quick and overlooked sniff, she took in his scent. He definitely was a vampire, and an old one at that, he reeked of age. Pam, having a Grandmaker of ancient age, placed this vampire to be of equal footing to Godric, at least in years. The next thing to catch her attention was the _blood._ His right side was drowned in it, smothered, originating from a ghastly wound on the right side of his neck. In full honesty, it looked reminiscent of something rabid, long tearing motions leaving flaps of skin to hang and weep and bleed. Now what in the name of holy hell would and, more importantly, _could_ do that to a vampire? Especially one of his years?

"Where is the Sheriff of this area?"

Ah, he hid his accent well, but so did many vampires, and Pam was no new-risen herself. There was a hint of Latin in there, you could tell by the twist he gave his s's. His pale skin still housed some colour, a dusky taupe, coupled with his brown eyes and straight black hair, Pam would pin the vampire from originating from either Italy, Spain, or at least, the Mediterranean. Funny, they didn't get many old-world vampires visiting their American counterparts. Before Pam could question further, there was a quick precession of steps, a ping of the back door to the basement opening and closing. So fast together, a human would only notice the one noise, as her maker, Eric, zoomed his way into the room.

"Right here. And I must say, I do not like being disturbed while I feed. However, seeing the… State you're in, I admit, you've piqued my curiosity."

From the corner of her eye, Pam could see Eric idly wiping away a stray rivulet of blood from the corner of his lip with a handkerchief, coming to an almost protective stance half in front of her. Even after nearly a century and a half, he still treated her with the devotion of a maker to a newly turned vampire. She didn't know whether she found it markedly endearing, the love her maker had for her, or slightly insulting. Often, she landed on the former, as she did that night. This newcomer, however, did not seem to be a conversing type.

"Then I will not hold you long. You have a vampire in your area, a vampire that goes by the name of Bill Compton? I need to know where he is right now."

Eric cut a quick glance to Pam as he crossed his arms and leant on the bar besides her. Of-fucking-course. Bill Compton. It always led back to him, didn't it? Or Sookie… Perhaps both. Still, Eric would not be deterred from the answers he sought. Not so easily.

"Nasty wound you've acquired there. Doesn't look like any wounds I've seen before. Nor does it look like it's healing."

That was what was so brilliant about Eric, his observation skills. Now that he had mentioned it, Pam could still see the fresh blood, shiny, hot, leaking. It should have congealed by now, long before actually, and healing should have begun too. Yet, it looked like it had been freshly made, only seconds ago. Deceptive. Which, Eric having already arrived at long before if he was already questioning it, brought Pam to the same worrying conclusion. Whatever had attacked this vampire, somehow, someway, got around their healing factor, disbanding it. Additionally, through saliva or venom, or some other form of injection, it had an anticoagulant that _worked_ on their kind. How very, very, very disconcerting.

"You wouldn't recognize it, and it will heal… Given time. Now, Bill Compton, where is he?"

What sort of creature would adapt a set of skills to bypass a vampire's healing ability and their coagulation process? Why would it need to? Pam did not now, but by the twinkle in Eric's blue eyes and how he ran a hand through his freshly cut hair to sweep back his dirty blond fringe from his eyes, the shortest it had been since his own making, Eric had some hint of something she could not fathom, and whatever it was, it excited him. Deeply, as he pulled out a chair from a table, sat and leisurely waved a hand to indicate to the other vampire to sit.

"Where is the rush? Perhaps you should sit down, and I will get you a donor-"

"If I do not find Bill Compton soon, many vampires in your area will die tonight."

All sense of politeness, cordiality or respect to the other, older vampire that Eric had shown was washed away as soon as he finished talking. All too easily, Eric's, as Pam came to call it, human face, the one he used on those outside his own bloodline, to the human populace, fell and there he was, her maker. He stood in a flash, imposingly tall at six foot five, his blond hair shining with streaks of white under the harsh bulb of Fangtasia's dance floor, eyes darkening to stormy seas as he held back a snarl and tugged on his leather jacket to straighten it out.

"Is that a threat?"

The vampire sighed and momentarily closed his eyes before levelling Eric with a straight and half dead gaze. Only then did Pam realise, if a vampire could need such a thing, this one looked extremely tired and worn and in good need of a long, undisturbed rest.

"It is simply a fact. One you can help me change if you just tell me where he is."

Now that was strange. Was Bill, Bill of all vampires, planning an attack? Pam scoffed. The most a vampire like Bill could attack would be a patch of daisies, and even then, he would cry over their little petal-less heads. Bill Compton really did shame their entire species. Eric cocked his head and one brow lifted imperiously high, but suddenly, all three vampires were hit with a smell. Blood. Not just any blood. Vampire blood. Strong.

Through the cracked open door of Fangtasia, a hand appeared. The nail polish was chipped, the fingers clawing into the ground as it dragged itself further in and was soon joined by another. By the time the bleached blonde head appeared, streaks of blood splattering the curls into crispy spikes, Pam knew who it was. No one escaped her memory vault. Joanne Lunder, a frequent vampire visitor to their bar, part of a nest, seven strong, all regular patrons to Fangtasia. They lived on the very outskirts of their area. It was only as her legs came into view that the vampires within the building knew exactly why this one had taken to crawling on the floor like a grub.

One of her legs was completely torn off, wounds, deep, much like the one on the male vampire's neck that had come in, were littering her back and stomach. Her other leg was mangled, chunks missing until it looked like a mockery of a surrealist painting. Pam sped over, propping the body up against the wall as Joanne began to cough, blood dribbling down her chin. Fuck. This was a new Chanel top, fresh off the runway, and now it was soiled with vampire blood. Fan-fucking-tastic. Eric was soon besides her, crouching, viewing the wounds with a macabre sort of wonder. What. The. Fuck. Was. In. Their. Area?

"It was too fast… Too fast… It came from the shadows…"

Pam blinked and scowled.

"What came too fast?"

Joanne, however, was delirious. Sobbing, bleeding, just a hunk of meat leaning against their bar's wall and Pam was left with no answers.

"Dead… Their all dead… Mark… Lindsay… Frank… Dylan… Isiah… Veronica… Dead…"

Joanne spluttered and stilled, though she fought on for the little life she had left. No words would ever cross that poor bitches lips again. Seven vampires… Gone. Snap. Just like that. Humans? No. Werewolves? Not fucking likely. Another vampire? The clues fit but something didn't feel right to Pam. They were missing something, or, at least, she was. Unwillingly, Pam's gaze travelled to the stump of a hip joint, distinctly noticing the lack of blood pooling around the grievous amputation… Drained. Joanne had been drained. Not entirely, but enough to leave her wounds just open, dribbling tears. Yes, the wounds were still leaking. It must have taken Joanne time to drag herself here, to their little bar, enough time for her blood to-… It was the same thing, Pam thought as she glanced over her shoulder and eyed up the male vampire watching from a distance. Whatever attacked him had moved on, sort out another seven and did who knows what to them for reasons unknown.

Eric, as always, was ten steps ahead. Pam could only watch as her maker leant towards Joanne and slowly clasped her left hand. Given, at first, it seemed like Eric was offering comfort, a sense of comradeship before this vamp met the true death, there was no way Joanne was coming back from this, but Pam new better. That was a human action, and well, they weren't human. Vampires, in reality, were a lot more like cats. They preferred to die alone and they only liked physical contact when _they_ initiated it.

She was proven right when he pulled something back. A scrap of material. Just a square, a frayed piece of denim. It was dismal, really. This little piece of fabric, it was all Joanne had been able to grab or swipe in her confrontation with whatever that had caused this. Still, this creature was at least humanoid if it was running around wearing a pair of light washed jeans. Eric brought the material to his nose and breathed in deeply and what took up home on his face would forever be imprinted on Pam's mind, not that she forgot much at any rate.

Amazement didn't quite cover it. It was like someone had taken that little spark of wonder Eric had been sporting since he first clapped eyes on the male vamps wounds and poured petrol all over it. His crooked smile didn't quite cover the depths of his emotions toiling inside, Pam knew, he was always brilliant at cloaking them, even from her. However, she knew that look, she knew that gleam, she knew inside his mind, all neurons would be firing simultaneously, working a mile a minute, thoughts coming and going in a flurry, too fast for even her to keep up. Whatever it was that her maker had scented, it made Eric act as if Joanne's mutilated carcass was a Christmas gift and not the foreboding warning Pam felt it to be.

Distractedly, he flicked the cloth to her, which Pam caught without effort, as he cast one last lingering look to the body of Joanne before coming to a stand. Pam, in turn, scented the cloth herself. Instantly, she regretted it. The smell itself was pleasant enough. Sharp. Warm. Smokey fire, something sweet, like vanilla with a hint of spice lurking around the edges. Underneath all that, lurking, was something… Other. Indescribable. And it was that smell which jarred Pam. The hairs on the back of her neck, long thought dormant, spiked up in warning. Something within her told her to run, to escape and her body, for just a split second, became rigid in fear. _Danger._ If danger could have a smell, it would be that.

She hadn't felt that way since she had first met Eric, back in that street, with that lowly human holding a knife to her throat before Eric swooped in and dispatched him… Back when she was human, and as all humans did, even subconsciously, they recognized a predator and their own prey status. Vampires lost that feeling when they turned, why wouldn't they? They were on top of the fucking food chain, nothing above them, no other predators… So why the fuck did she react in such a way? Finally, the pieces fell together and just as she came to the startling realisation of what exactly had snuck into their area, Eric had turned and addressed the male vampire looking forlornly on.

"I knew it. You've sired a Dhampir. A real, tangible Dhampir, in my area…"

 _Dhampirs._ The way it got around their healing ability, how it stalled their coagulation… All so it could feed on its favourite prey. Vampires. Sure, it could feed on other beings, werewolves, wiccans, but that would only sustain a Dhampir. Vampires were its favourite meal and it would always go for that option if given the chance. Vampires had their true blood and humans, Dhampirs had their other magical beings and Vampires. Given the choice, both would always hunt the latter.

Dhampirs were dangerous, ravenous upon first waking up, almost mad by the need to hunt and kill and their hunger was notoriously high and demanding. Nearly triple that of a newly turned vampire, which arguably, is the most hungriest type of any supernatural being. If the world was an ocean, humans the fish, vampires, undisputedly, were the great white sharks of the deep blues and Dhampirs… Dhampirs where the fucking killer whales. Always hunting. In short, every advantage a Vampire had, a Dhampir would turn that on them three-fold. Speed? Dhampirs were faster. Strength? Equal. Healing? Not if it was a Dhampir that bit or inflicted the wound. Need an invite? Nope, Dhampirs walked to their own drum. Glamouring? Nope, those fucking Dhampirs were immune and worse of all, could switch that little trick right back into your face. Stakes? Useless. Sunlight? Cozy nap-time for a Dhampir. Silver? Pile it on them and they'll just thank you for the jewelery. The only semi known way to kill a Dhampir was to decapitate it, if that Nubian myth was to be at all true, and even then, you had to get near their terrifying mouth and fangs.

Despite all this, everything, the natural way of the world, Dhampirs were held in high, very high, regard by the vampiric community. They were seen as gifts. Rare. Procreation was always a sore spot for any vampire and the knowledge on how to make a Dhampir was long ago lost. Perhaps never fully known. So much so, in fact, some newer vampires believed them to be nothing but fables. Still, Dhampirs were… Infamously coveted. No bloodline who had fathered or taken in a Dhampir had ever fallen. A Dhampirs sire, father and nest, were famously protective of their offspring, and it was odd to hear of one out and about before the turning of their third century. Perhaps it was twisted irony. The same morbid fascination humans showed for vampires, vampires mirrored for Dhampirs. Still, it changed nothing. There was a very real, very recently turned, very hungry Dhampir in their area.

No wonder the male vampire had not been willing to mention anything of the sort. The bastard was trying to get one over on Eric. On all of them. Pam stood and mirrored her maker, turning to face the vampire dead on. Realising the jig was up, the vampire came clean, and once again, flipped the world right on it's head.

"I didn't sire a Dhampir… Bill Compton did."

* * *

 _Traits taken from Folklore in this chapter:_ From some Bulgarian Folklore, Dhampirs were actually more feared than their normal Vampiric counterparts because they were seen as more 'ravenous' and 'uncontrollable'. In Albanian legend, the only way to distinguish a Dhampir from a human, apart from their untamed dark hair, was that they were shadowless, most likely a mutated form of the myth of vampires not having reflections.

I used the metaphor of killer whales, or Orca's for what Dhampirs (or my version of Dhampirs) are like because it gives a good base line to what I'm trying to build this breed to be, and the metaphor will crop up here and there again, rarely, but it will be present. Orca's get their nickname, killer whales, because they are notoriously aggressive in their dietary needs. They won't think twice about attacking big sea predators like sea lions or whales if they are hungry and spot one. It has also been documented that Orca's have attacked and fed off of great white sharks before. They will also feed and prey on almost any animal they can find, and as an Apex predator, they are technically at the top of their food chain. They are also extreme in their methods of hunting, going as far as sometimes beaching themselves on land to catch seals. To be honest, Orca's are a little bit terrifying lol.

 _ **As always, thank you all!**_ Thank you for all the support, the favourites, the follows and the reviews! I really do hope you are enjoying this so far!

Remember to leave a review! They give me inspiration and inspiration keeps this fic going.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER TWO: BLOODLUST.**

* * *

 **Eric's P.O.V**

The blood is sacred. Eric Northman was raised on that belief. Blood granted them life, immortality, but most importantly, especially to a man like Eric, it granted them something much more enjoyable. Pleasure. Fun. Excitement and relief. Entertainment and gratification. After all, what was life eternal without a bit of bloodshed, debouched merriment and carnage to lighten up their nights? Not any sort of life Eric Northman wanted to live through.

Perhaps that is why the idea of meeting, seeing for himself, a real, tangible Dhampir was nothing short of exhilarating to Eric. As much as any vampire worth their weight in V would not admit, himself included, they had all once been very, very human. For them, that humanity they had been born with, it always left some sort of _stain_ upon the vampire.

Eric still had a penchant for collecting weaponry that reminded him of the days of old, where he would raid and rape and pillage. Pam was adamant in the action of drowning herself in all the finery her magpie eyes could find, all the wealth and decadence her former life had denied her in part when she was human. Nora, from the last time they had seen each other, was still pilfering through old medical books relating back to the black death she herself had diligently fought against back in the seventeenth century. And Eric's maker, well, you could only see for yourself the intensive library the ancient vampire kept on war, to believe it. Godric, Eric knew, had a hand in starting some of those wars himself.

However, Dhampirs had none of this. Yes, they began their eternal life as a mimicry of humanity, with heartbeats and breaths, but they were never _really_ human. From birth, there were always signs pointing to their supernatural heritage. Reactions too fast. An aura that ebbed away at people, making them feel… Uncomfortable. In the beginning, they were always solitary, preferring the company of few people, maybe two or three that they would call friend and mean it.

From what Eric had heard and read himself, they were quick to anger, always on the slightly hungry side, and had more than a bad streak of luck in avoiding conflict. Oh no. From what he understood of it, Dhampirs thrived in discord. Nearly all documented Dhampirs, as little as their numbers were, started their life off in the crucible of a torrid war. A battle of survival. Perhaps that was simply one of the conditions on how to birth one, who knew?

Of course, he could not validate any of this. Eric, himself, in his thousand years upon this earth, had never personally met a Dhampir, but he had heard the stories alright. He had heard them and he had thirsted to know just how much was true. How human were they really? How vampiric they were? Just where what were they like? So, knowing one was in his area this very night, how could Eric deny the chance to see for himself? To finally know just how sacred their blood was, and in turn, in the right environment, what it could birth into being.

Naturally, he would prefer to find those answers before and without company. In so, he had set Pam to distracting this Sanguini fellow, stalling their search for Bill Compton until Eric could find the Dhampir himself. Right now, the two would be traipsing through the woods on a pointless trail, far away from any spot Bill Compton was known to frequent, and only until he sent a call to his Childe, would Pam lead the older, gravely injured vampire anywhere near Bill Compton or his house. He almost felt Sorry for Pam. Almost. Her precious Louis Vuitton heals would surely be wrecked.

However, he had been through his own trials that night, and Eric only had room for so much sympathy in his small, dead, unbeating heart. Currently, that sympathy was aimed solely at himself. The Dhampir had proven… Resourceful and cunning in its own way. It liked to loop, leave false trails, dip in and out of streams where it's scent couldn't be tracked. At one point, it must have clued in that it was being followed. For a good two miles, through dense woods, it had taken to running through the tree-tops, leaving Eric to believe he had come to a dead-end for an hour straight before he clocked onto its game. For that was what this was. A game. Catch me if you can. Tig. Cat and mouse. Oddly, for once in a very long time, Eric was not the cat.

During this time, it had hit another three nest, another eleven vampires ripped apart and drained, and by Godric himself, it had not been a pretty sight Eric had raced into, already too late. Blood soaked walls, torn limbs strewn all around, entrails hanging from lamps. At one nest, it had looked like the Dhampir had thrown the inhabiting vampires straight into the ceiling fan and then chose to finger paint in the blood.

After all this, when Eric finally managed to catch up to the Dhampir, corner it in a little cabin nest it was feasting in a few miles out from Compton's own home, he only had two and a half hours before he would need to seek shelter and die for the day. Not enough time to answer his questions, but just enough to introduce himself like a good sheriff would.

The cabin in front of Eric was not too impressive. Just a shack really. One level. Just enough room for a singular room. Roof tiles displaced, windows boarded to protect against the sunlight come daytime. Chipped front door, caved in half from something bashing its way in through brute force. In truth, it resembled more an abandoned crack den then a thriving nest. However, he knew his people, knew there would be another three vampires within there… Already having met the true death, likely, due to the inescapable silence that was enshrouding the little cabin and the stench of vampire blood coiling in the air.

Nonetheless, from his vantage point near an old oak tree, Eric knew the Dhampir was still in there. Waiting. He could _feel_ it. A tingle. A flare in his senses. A caution striking up home in his chest. _Beware._ The feeling was new and entirely unpleasant. However, Eric Northman was never any good at heeding warnings, and so, made his way into the cabin through the destroyed front door.

Of course, the first thing to greet him was blood. Splattered everywhere, from floorboard to ceiling plank, red glistened. The furniture of the single room was destroyed. The couch torn and ripped, table shattered, old rug tangled and shoved by a wall, likely being displaced due to a struggle. The only surviving piece of furniture was a lamp, leaning lopsided next to a wall, shade dotted with blood, bulb flickering on and off in little beating impulses.

This time, the Dhampir had taken to being a neat little carnage bringer. There were piles of body parts dotted around the large room of the cabin. A pile of chests, two male, one female, piled in one corner, hearts pulled free. A bundle of arms collected near a dusty fireplace, fingers broken. A stack of legs discarded onto the beaten couch, some skinned. A pyramid of eyeless heads built near the lamp, jaws dislocated. Still, what was most telling was the little mound taking up centre stage in the middle of the room. Fangs and eyes.

Eric crouched down next to them, placing his palm on the floor, feeling a soft heat emanate from the wood. Huh, another little hint. Dhampirs ran hot compared to a vampires constant chill. The Dhampir had been sitting right here, moments ago, playing with its little prizes… No. Not playing… inspecting. It was if the Dhampir had taken them apart just to see how they worked. Were their hearts vulnerable? How strong was their grip, even with broken fingers? Did skinning kill them or not? Did it make the blood taste better? What was their jaw strength? It had collected their fangs and eyes, two of the physical similarities between both Dhampirs and vampires, and had searched them out, scrutinized them, picking apart differences between itself and them. It was learning their weaknesses, their strengths… It was learning to hunt.

This was a new Dhampir… A _very_ new Dhampir. Standing once more, Eric took a sweep of the room. It had been right here before he had come in, sitting, it couldn't have gotten far. A basement? A loft? Slowly, his gaze fell to a corner in the ceiling, the opposite side to the only light source, the lamp. Eric grinned.

The shadow there, in that little corner where two walls met ceiling, was dense. Almost unnaturally so. Within that blackened fog, he could see a shimmer of something green sparkle. Eyes. Staring. Watching. Waiting. It was a good position to take, Eric would give the Dhampir that. High. Out of the way. Unlikely to draw attention. In fact, if Eric had not been searching, he would have missed it entirely and then, surely, as he passed the archway to go back outside, it would have leapt and tore right into his neck. This Dhampir was a fast learner. Eric hadn't began pulling tricks like this until his second decade, and he very much doubted this Dhampir had garnered a whole year in this life, let alone twenty years.

"Why, hello there."

The Dhampir dropped down from its little perch in the corner silently, eerily, as it straightened out, levelling Eric with a poignant, unblinking stare as it stepped closer to the light and he got his first glimpse of it unperturbed by shadow or furniture. It was a woman, a girl, young.

She wasn't beautiful. Not in most senses of the word, and Eric had had his fair share of seeing, tasting, and sometimes killing, most beauties for himself. She didn't have the classical beauty of golden curls and ivory skin Eric often favoured. She lacked the exotic spice of a coquettish smile and slinky limbs. There was no cherubic innocence to be found either, no soft blush or dainty hands and feet. She was scarred, he could see them, littering her knuckles, words... _I must not tell lies..._ One splitting her forehead in two, like a lightning bolt, one, looking like a giant snake bite, dotting her forearm.

Her features were too sharp, cutting, all angular lines and glacial grace. The blood that coated her from head to toe, despite the indulgent crimson, only amplified this barren coldness to her. It was like an arctic winter had been personified, locked into human skin. Her hair was… Something else entirely. An entity to its own. Tight and curly and uncontrollable, an explosion of onyx that fluttered past her shoulders to swing at the small of her back.

She was a small thing, Eric noticed. Barely reaching five foot two. Thin, but muscled, her curves protesting strength rather than comfort or pleasure, giving her a continued look of pleading for a vicious fight rather than a good fuck. No. She defiantly wasn't beautiful. She was _striking._ And it was her eyes that made that striking visage twist into something simply… Extraordinarily otherworldly.

Her eyes showed her soul. They were a torrential whirlpool of restless emerald, hard, inquisitive, an ocean of formidable intensity. All spark and flame and _passion._ Passion that turned her otherwise warrior eyes into the brightest orbs of fire, and in them, shining, Eric could see that she would fight, claw and bite to the very last tear for her life. She wasn't the type to be beaten or broken. She would not lay down and take it. She would spit and growl and rip. She would give as good as she got, and then triple the stakes. They were the eyes of a survivor. Eyes Eric had only seen once before, on his funeral mound, Godric leaning over him, smothered in the cloying smell of smoke and death and blood.

"This isn't just about bloodlust…"

A vibrating growl answered him, emanating from the young woman as she began to prowl around him slowly, step by sure step, keeping her front directly facing him in the middle of the demolished room. Smart girl. However, he was smarter. While the havoc she had reaped this night had been partly due to her bloodlust, due to a Dhampir's renowned hunger upon first awakening, Eric knew better now.

"When we first awaken, we all have that… Itch. We all crave what we did most in life, what we _enjoyed_ most. Be it feeding, fucking or fighting, we all fall to it in those first months. I barely left the bedroom with Pam. She was insatiable. Nora ate her way through a whole village. But no… You don't want to fuck or feed, do you? You've fed enough for tonight… No. You've been looking for something to scratch that itch, haven't you? You just hadn't found it yet."

The growling picked up a notch, fangs clicked and Eric smirked. Her fangs were different to theirs, a vampires. They were longer, nearly cutting into her bottom lip, thicker too, glistening with a razor edge and well, she also had two sets instead of one. That explained the gaping holes in the vampire corpses. Her eyes bled to black too, her pupils swallowing iris and sclera alike, bleeding into inky sockets. Still, Eric did not stop.

"None of these vampires put up much of a fight, did they? No. It was too easy. It didn't scratch that itch. They died too soon. They snapped and broke and bled out before the fun could really start, before you could quench that craving… You've been looking for a good fight, and none have managed to slate _that_ hunger. Well…"

He knew all this because he had felt the exact same urge upon his awakening. He had hunted and fucked and bled, but he had only been truly satisfied on that first night when Godric had, shortly, figured out Eric's little problem and had taken to fighting him when Eric had been left adrift in his instincts, lost to his bloodlust. Left unchecked, Eric was sure he would have fed his way through the nearest village, or ten. Vampiric urges and instincts being one of the most ingrained needs, nearly impossible to ignore, very much like this Dhampir currently was doing. The only problem was, this Dhampir had no maker to help her see through her bloodlust, to snap her out of it, to help her with her urges, to feed those needs. And really, Eric couldn't see Bill fucking Compton being much help.

Gently and slowly, as if he didn't have a care in the world, Eric shrugged his jacket off, primly folding it before throwing it onto the floor, stretching out his arms and loosening his limbs. This… This should be fun.

"And then I walked in and you've found the fight you were looking for."

The Dhampir lunged head on. Eric almost tutted as he prepared to bat her away, disappointed she would go for such an obvious choice of attack, but, at the last possible second, she folded in upon herself, bending down low, fainting a drop to sweep at his legs. It worked. The two went barrelling to the floor, crashing through a wall as the Dhampir snarled and wound herself around him. He had barely enough time to free one of his legs, to escape the gnash of fang and to kick the Dhampir away to escape being bitten.

She went sailing through the air, skidding across the clearing of the little cabin, but she didn't stay down for long. Within a blink of an eye, she was up and moving, darting left and right, circling, searching for an opening. She found one when Eric got his footing back, shouldering into his right flank. He held steady, but her own leg shot up, over his shoulder, like a viper, wrapping around his neck to tighten and pull down, bending him in half so his back was exposed to her fang.

Of course, the game couldn't stop so quickly, not when they were just beginning, and the prospect of blood dazed the Dhampir just enough to be blindsided when Eric flung them both backwards, into a tree, knocking the woman off him with a crack and vicious growl. She was back on him soon enough, biting and clawing.

Eric didn't know how long that dance lasted. She got close, perhaps to close for comfort, her fangs skimming here and there once in a while, but Eric had a thousand years of experience, and that was hard to beat. Still, she gave him a good run for his money, surprisingly enough. In truth, Eric was enjoying the tussle perhaps as much as she seemingly was. It had been a long time since Eric had let loose, was able to just fight for fighting sake, to let go of plans, schemes and vampiric politics and law to just be what he was. A vampire who thirsted. It was… Liberating.

However, the game could not last forever, the sun would be coming within an hour, and the Dhampir needed to snap out of her bloodlust before then if he didn't want to be reduced to a pile of ash. On another inbound attack, Eric sent his fist flying, tearing through the woman's stomach, holding her in place by her innards. She _howled._

"I'm grieved to cut this short, but end it we have to. Dawn is coming and you need to snap out of this. I've won."

She looked at him then, right in the eye for the first time, snarl dying on her lips and… Smiled. It was a dead thing, that smile, all crooked weeds and empty graves. Leisurely, her hand came up, settling gently on the shoulder of his arm that was currently skewering her. A moment of confusion struck Eric then, bewilderment creasing his brow, sleeking the lines of his eyes before her grip tightened and she hauled herself further up his arm, impaling herself fully onto his arm, almost up to his elbow.

A flush of almost pride flooded him… Before she dived in and Eric realised how she could now reach his fucking shoulder and neck. Her fangs tore into the joint where neck met shoulder, where tendon was straining, ripping and digging in further. Eric bellowed, and he swore, that vibrating growl from the Dhampir sounded suspiciously like laughter. He swung, hard, winding his arm out and away, letting go and watching as the Dhampir was flung backwards, off his arm, taking a chunk of his neck with her.

His hand snapped to his neck, pressing into his wound, hissing at the sting and flare of pain, the feeling of his own blood dribbling through his fingers, down his palm. Being bitten was, as a vampire who normally preformed the biting, strange. Of course, there was pain, a roar of agony at being ripped into, but there was also a… Exhilaration. Excitement. A burning sort of rapture. There was a moment of uncertainty, a line of life and death being balanced on, a single second of wondering whether you would fall on one side or the other. Was this how humans felt when they were bitten? In a way, to Eric, donors and fangbangers were not such a mystery anymore.

Idly, Eric watched as the woman stood, fresh blood coating her already stained mouth, as she deliberately, it must have been deliberate, locked eyes and slowly spat out of hunk of flesh she had bitten off onto the clearing floor. His hand fell away from his neck as he saw her tongue flicker out, running across her fangs and teeth, collecting the blood there in an easy glide. As loathed as he was to stop… Whatever this was, he could feel the pull and call of the earth ringing in his ears, heralding the arrival of the sun, and so, he would have to.

This time, they both dived for each other, and through a tangle of limbs, fangs and surprisingly on her part, headbutts, Eric barely managed to get half a hold onto the Dhampir. With one leg pinning her own down, another leg pinning an arm to her side, a hand restraining her last free arm and his last limb, fingers wrapped around her neck, squeezing warningly, pushing her into the damp earth, Eric managed to hold her down. Like a wild animal, she growled and bucked and twisted, but with a thousand years came a strength she could not match, not quite yet, even if she nearly slipped free once or twice.

Eventually, he watched avidly as those black voids receded in her eyes, allowing that ethereal emerald to burn in the night. Finally, the distinct sound of her fangs retracting followed the sudden limp placidity her form had flopped into. Eric was almost sorry that the fight was over. However, there would be other times. He was sure of it.

"Feeling better?"

 _He_ was. Oddly, he had not known he had been itching for a fight as much as he had until he had that urge gratified. For a long while, the Dhampir simply, unnervingly, looked at him. This close and still, her scent was strong, buried underneath all that blood.

"Do it. Kill me."

She was, at least, partially back into her right frame of mind now, especially if she could talk, as crunched and jagged as those almost garbled words were. Her voice was all smoke, sweet but venomous, like honey mixed with hemlock. Her tone was even, perhaps even bored, gaze steady and resilient, nonplussed, unafraid of the possibility of death Eric's presence offered. Uncannily, he remembered a time when the roles were reversed. When he was laying crippled, his sword and shield by his side, waiting for death. Death had come for him that night, with deerskin trousers, mud and blood caked hair, bare feet and a crooked smile. Possibly, what Eric was seeing right now, this unnerved fearlessness, this unflinching will, was what Godric had seen in him all those many nights ago.

"Kill you? Now why would I go and do a thing like that?"

To prove his point, he let up and stepped away, giving her some personal space, just enough to make her not feel trapped or cornered. She sprang into a crouched posture, wearily eyeing him. Whatever she was looking for, searching for, she must have found as she held her hand out, in the direction of the ransacked cabin and whispered a word without ever taking her gaze from him.

"Incendio."

The cabin burst into flames, hot and white and almost blinding. There was a crackle in the air, like mossy electric, earthy but mystical. Magic.

"A Dhampiric witch… Impressive."

Eric retorted as he watched the cabin burn and cinder, little plumes of blackened smoke dancing into the lightening sky. Wiccan's, while as troubling as they were, had nothing on their own counterparts, the wizarding world. For millennia, vampires and wizards had not… Seen eye to eye, should he say. In full honesty, they loathed each other. The wizarding world wanted all species to conform, to be absorbed into their own culture, rules, laws and regulations, and yet, would never grant another species the same liberties they gave themselves. Vampires found them arrogant, conniving, hypercritical, and much preferred to stay to themselves.

Thousands of years ago, after battles and war, the vampire accords had been signed. The two worlds would leave the other one well enough alone. Vampires would not involve themselves in wizarding affairs and, in turn, the wizarding world would leave vampires to their own devices. In truth, it ended up just turning the war into an underground movement, as hate bred underneath the tensions and armistice. It was no secret that vampires found within the wizarding world were executed. The same fate befalling their equivalents in the Vampiric community. As the saying went, the only good witch or wizard was a dead witch or wizard.

In light of this revelation, it was simply amazing that this Dhampir had been conceived in the first place. Who knew Bill Compton, of all vampires, had it in him to bed a witch? Furthermore, Eric had been lucky the Dhampir had been lost to bloodlust, turned to her instincts, mind half gone, or during the fight, she could have easily used her magic and got the jump on Eric and perhaps he would have… Lost. How very disconcerting.

"I'm guessing your kind, or former kind shall we say, tried to kill you when you turned? They so do hate our people. Killing a Dhampir would have been a big coup for them."

No wonder she had ran and escaped from this Sanguini. If she turned to a witch or wizard, she would have been put down for her Vampiric nature. In all likelihood, they had already tried to… Neutralize her. Additionally, in her mind, only knowing the propaganda the wizarding world spewed out, she thought If she turned to a vampire, she would have been executed for her witch blood. Eric highly doubted she had been taught or learned any of the intricacies of the undead social system, nor of Dhampirs and their status within their community, and so, had ran just to survive.

She didn't answer him, only looked on with those daunting eyes of hers. Unfortunately, Eric didn't have time to delve into the complexities of vampire hierarchy, societal structure or law regarding her own breed, not with the sun snapping at their heals, and so, he jumped right for the crux of her weariness.

"I'm not going to kill you."

She cocked her head to the side and looked none too impressed.

"Then what _do_ you want?"

Smart girl indeed. Nothing, even in their unending life, was free. It was a good thing she knew this already. Still, he wasn't _quite_ ready to give away his own schemes and plans, not so easily and early. Not when the _real_ game was just beginning.

"I can help you through this, teach you all there is to know about Vampires, about Dhampirs. I also know your father, I can take you to him, If you like? You can all be, what is it the witches call them? Covens? You can all be a happy little coven."

She stood up, and through the tear in her sodden T-shirt Eric could see a clean patch of stomach. The hole where his fist had previously been nothing but an unmarred stretch of pale skin now. Well, a Dhampir's healing ability certainly outmatched a Vampires. It would have taken Eric at least a few hours to fully heal and even then, the skin and muscle would be tender for a night or two. She cocked a brow at him, her voice droll and simultaneously playfully taunting.

"Don't use words you don't understand."

Eric shrugged.

"Fine then, how about a family?"

She looked away, back to the burning cabin, a little twist to her lips setting it into a wry sort of self-deprecating snarl.

"Don't use words _I_ don't understand."

Eric couldn't stop the laughter that broke free. In another life, another set of circumstances, another set of constrictions, he could see himself saying the same damn thing. Mentally, he sent a call out to Pam, telling her to take Sanguini back to Fangtasia and to get to ground and die for the day. Through the maker bond, he could feel a flare of indignation. Confusion. But overall, acceptance of his order. Pam may be stubborn and lazy, but she knew when not to push him, for which he was thankful for. When nightfall hit once more, he would send another call out, telling Pam to bring Sanguini to Compton's place and then… Well, the fireworks would start.

Until then, he needed to get himself and the littlest Dhampir underground, somewhere safe from the sun. For while she wouldn't burn, she would still feel the need to die for the day, to bury herself somewhere deep and dark. It had been a long time since he had to resort to burying himself in the earth itself, but the thought brought more comfort than displeasure. Those were fond times for himself. The old days.

Not willing to waste any more time reminiscing, he held his hand out to the Dhampir, fingers splayed invitingly.

"I believe me and you are going to get along just fine…"

* * *

 _Traits taken from folklore in this chapter:_ In Bulgarian folklore about Dhampirs, signs include having no nails and bones. Obviously, I didn't want to make Harry a gelatinous mass, and so, transformed this trait into being flexible, (where Harry was able to literally wrap her leg around Eric's neck and pull downwards despite the angle being odd). Being 'slippery and jelly-like' is also attributed to Dhampirs, but yet again, I didn't want Harry to be boneless nor greasy and simply made this mean she's hard to keep a hold of, even Eric struggles to get a grip on her and keep it. I thought having Harry also, well, impale herself further without flinching, just to get to a food source, would emphasis this seemingly 'boneless' quality Dhampirs are meant to have, while also underlining a Dhampirs compulsion to feed and the strength of their hunger if their willing to go so far to slate it. I thought having these traits done in this way would explain how these myths came to be in this universe, as in a human or perhaps another vampire survived a run in from a Dhampir a long time ago, and having seen their abilities, in their lack of scientific understanding, attributed their flexibility and ability to get out of holds rather easily as being 'boneless' and 'slippery/jelly-like'.

Don't worry, Harry isn't going to be super-powered in this fic, as that would be all too easy to do seen as she still has her magic. However, personally, I don't really like overpowered heroines, and I will be trying my hardest to keep away from that little trope. I've been researching Dhampir weaknesses and have a few little surprises lined up for Harry lol. I just want to stick to the folklore as much as I can as it was these myths that got me interested in the beginning. I hope you're all enjoying this so far!

 ** _THANK YOU ALL_** for all the reviews, follows and favourites! Your support for this fic really does mean a lot to me, and I hope you are enjoying the ride so far!

 **Before you go,** see that box down there? Drop a few words into it and leave a review! I really do love hearing from all of you.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER THREE: IMPULSE CONTROL**

* * *

 **Jessica's P.O.V**

Jessica Hamby was sick and tired. Of course, being a member of the undead variety, this wasn't a physical manifestation, but rather one of the emotional realm. She was a vampire. A hunter. A demon that lurked in the night. So, why the hell was she sitting around, playing house with Bill Compton, her goody-two-shoes maker, testing out true blood flavours, getting to know a blonde waitress, when really, she should be out hunting. Having fun. Partying. Drinking blood right from the vein.

Mainstreaming was a pile of fucking horse shit. Don't drink from humans. Don't scare the humans. Don't wear that dress. Don't hunt. Don't sleep with that boy. Don't kill that girl… The list was endless. All of it was bullshit. The lot of it. They were vampires, the apex predators, when did apex predators start playing by rules? Admittedly, Jessica had only been a vampire for a few weeks, but damn, she felt she knew more about what it _meant_ to be a vampire than Bill did or ever could.

No. Jessica was sick of rules. She was sick of sundresses. Sick of church. Sick of doing her homework and chores. Sick of everything that reminded her of her human life that, really, seemed so inconsequential and honestly pathetic right now. She wished she was back with Pam and Eric. They knew how to have a good time, how to be _real_ vampires.

Instead, here she was, sent to her room like a five-year old. The night had started out alright, boring and mundane, but safely placid. Bill had finally introduced Jessica to his… Feed? Lover? Fuck? Significant other?... Whatever, a woman by the name of Sookie Stackhouse, and Jessica had played ball. She had been polite. She had smiled. She had even braided her hair back and wore that horrid daisy printed sundress. Then the two had started to argue, about her nonetheless, and the atmosphere began to get more heated with each passing word and finally, just when Jessica thought she would finally see some fireworks, something entertaining, their front door had slammed open and who should enter but Eric and Pam.

The two hadn't been alone. Behind them was another vampire, a male who looked to be in bad shape, but before Jessica could question anything at all, Eric had demanded a private audience with her maker, told Bill to send her away, and then Bill was commanding her with his fucking maker bond to go to her room. She knew why Bill chose to send her away. He believed her to be too new. Too inexperienced. Too volatile… But that didn't lessen the sting of watching and knowing Sookie had been allowed to stay. The blonde was human, and even she got to listen in.

Jessica sighed and paced over to her window, jerking the old shutters open to feel the nights breeze flutter over her skin. The truth was, whittled down to its core, she felt _trapped._ She wanted blood, Bill denied her it, giving her that pigs swill known as true blood. She wanted to hunt, Bill denied her, impeaching the logic and reason that mattered little to a newly turned vampire. She wanted to party, Bill denied her, urging her to wrangle in her emotions, her wants, and to replace them with boring civility. _Denied. Denied. Denied._ Being a vampire was meant to be a new start for Jessica, and yet, she had not really left that bedroom back in her parent's house, scuttling around to follow her fathers' orders, always afraid to step out of the tight line of perfection her parents wanted her to follow. By god, when was something interesting going to happen?

"Hello."

The impish voice momentarily stalled Jessica, chilling her somehow, someway as an inescapable urge to run flooded over her, through her. However, before she could fully grasp the feeling, hold onto it, feel it, bathe in it, something thick and cloying settled over her, seeping into her pores, clogging her mind and body. Without really willing herself to, she was leaning out the window and speaking back to the faceless voice coming from outside.

"Hey…"

It took Jessica a while before she pinpointed the voice. The garden bellow was empty, just bushes, crooked trees and partly dead grass. Nonetheless, contrary to first glance, outside wasn't empty. A tree that stood just outside Jessica's bedroom window, a bedroom she didn't use or need, had a little inhabitant. Sitting on one of the lowest branches was a… Girl. She was dressed in an oxford shirt, the white so startling against the mottled brown of bark, it made Jessica idly wonder how she didn't see her before. The sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to her thin elbows, her legs bare and pale in the soft moonlight, tempting as they swung back and forth, dangling from the tree branch as her free toes wiggled in the air.

Her hair, long and curly, had a shine to it, a sleek sort of glistening that spread little patches of dampness into her shirt, as if she had just showered and couldn't be bothered to dry her rambunctious hair, a black so dark, it was onyx in the soft silver light. Suddenly, Jessica was hit with an image, an illustration she had seen in class one day when studying roman mythology. A little person dancing around a half goat man with pan flutes. A woodland nymph… Yes. She reminded Jessica of a nymph.

"Do you want to play a game?"

Her eyes were large and open, inviting, playful, delightfully alluring in a sort of garish green shade. Somewhere deep inside of herself, Jessica knew alarm bells should be ringing, she should be running, she should scream or call for help or something to get away from whatever this… Thing was, for it definitely was not human, Jessica could feel that in the very marrow of her bones… But her voice and eyes. So alive. So free. So spirited… Everything and anything Jessica Hamby wanted to be, wanted to feel, was mirrored back to her, tugging at her, goading her to follow.

"A game?"

She smiled then, so large, dimples appearing, teeth white and starkly sharp, that a thrum of fear, no… Excitement hummed through Jessica. _Come and play. Come and play. Come and play._ It was like a heartbeat, pounding, drumming at all thought and feeling.

"Yes, a game. You look bored. Why don't you step out here and have some fun with me?"

Even as the strange girl spoke, Jessica found her body moving, sliding out of the window, balancing on the sill, one leg dangling over the edge, ready to drop. In that moment, there was no questioning, no second guessing, no hesitation. She wanted fun. She wanted to follow the girl, wherever should she go, and Jessica wanted to play.

"Fun? I want to have fun…"

Her voice, even to her own ears, sounded dreamy.

"Of course you do. That's all any of us want. Me and you… We can have fun, can't we?"

Jessica slid further off the window sill.

"Yes… Yes. Fun. Me and you."

Disconnectedly, Jessica realized she was only parroting back to the strange girl around her age. It didn't matter. Only the fun they would have mattered.

"Good girl. Come on… Come here…"

Jessica dropped.

* * *

 **Sookie P.O.V**

"Sanguini. I didn't expect to ever have your acquaintance again."

To say the room felt heavy would be an understatement. Ironically, a line had been drawn both physically and in the figurative sense almost immediately after Jessica had stormed her way upstairs. Eric, Pam and this new vampire Sookie had never seen before, but by the way Bill and this Sanguini were eyeing each other, the way Bill spat his name just, they had a long history, were standing on one side of the room, by the door to the hall way, and Bill and Sookie had taken up root on the other side by the fireplace. Sookie could almost see the chalky white line splintering the room into two sides. Red and blue. Black and white. Right and wrong.

Eric, as always, exuded disinterested comfort. Kicking back against the wall by the door, arms crossed over his broad chest only covered by a tank top, one leg carelessly crossing the other, Eric looked bored. However, he wasn't fooling Sookie, not when she saw that little quirk in the corner of his lips, that glint in his eye. Something was coming, something was going to happen and he, Eric, was going to enjoy this. Sookie didn't need to be a mind reader to know that much.

Pam, however, looked rattled. She stood as primly as she always did, nose high in the air, hair polished and combed to perfection as she inspected her nails with the very same air of indifference as her maker, but Sookie didn't miss the quiet tap and click of the heel of her platform as she tapped her foot. Something was making her uncomfortable.

The last vampire was harder to read, perhaps because Sookie had never met him before. He was tall, spindly, almost frail looking, but there was a sort of viciousness to him, a venom, a poison to his blood. He made no show to hide the broadening of his grin, nor the vindictive twist his eyes took. His voice and tone mirrored his face perfectly. Clipped, choppy, but dusted with a sort of sarcastic resentfulness.

"Is that anyway to speak to an old friend?"

From the corner of her eye, pushed up close to Bill's side, weary of the other three vampires, Sookie could feel Bill stiffen more than she could see it. However, he held his ground, his chin tilting just so, a proud sweep to his shoulder hardening them and Sookie… Sookie was left confused and befuddled, as she often was when it came to vampires and their interrelationships.

What in the sweet name of baby Jesus was going on? Of course, Eric interrupted Bill and Sookie often, Sookie thought he might take a perverse sort of pleasure from storming into their lives and demanding actions, duty and work from them with no repayment, but normally, at least, Bill was a step ahead and warned her Eric was on his way or perhaps wanted her to go to Fangtasia to meet with the big blonde brute. There had been no warning this time. None whatsoever, and the fact that Eric, of all vampires, could implant himself into their lives so easily, without any thought, was more than slightly disconcerting, especially when Bill put up no fight to kick him out, no matter how pointless that fight would be. It was a matter of principle to Sookie. Bill saw it as causing unneeded aggravation. Just another point in their arguments lately.

"Friends? I would not say we had anything close to friendship. Not after what you did."

To be completely fair, Sookie told herself, Bill seemed entirely too focused on Sanguini to really bother much with Eric and Pam and that… Well, that was telling in and of itself. Sookie watched, almost fascinated, as Sanguini's smile faltered and a snarl took its place. Suddenly, it felt like the air had dropped fifty degrees, going from muggy Louisiana swamp to Canadian winter and Sookie felt goosepimples blister her skin.

"I did what I had to. Our kinds don't mix… They _didn't_ mix."

For once, just once, instead of taking solace in the quiet peacefulness Vampiric minds offered to a world-weary mind reader, Sookie wished her powers worked on them, just so she could make sense of whatever was taking place. Kinds, friends but enemies, snarls and smiles, hidden words… It was all so very confusing and very, very uncomfortable to witness. In an outward display of her unease, Sookie's hand crept up and latched itself onto Bill's bicep, trying to find comfort in solidarity, to show Bill that no matter what was going on, what he was facing, she was here for him. Bill's gaze snapped to her and she watched as his eyes softened, a small smile gracing his face. Of course, Eric had to ruin the moment by throwing himself into the situation.

"As amusing as this verbal parrying is turning out to be, should we not be getting down to business? Sookie, if you don't mind…"

Eric jerked his head behind him, towards the door, silently dismissing her as if she was nothing but one of his staff back at his tacky bar. Sookie diligently bit down on the flare of ire that sprang up from such an obvious disregard. She was used to feeling ire in Eric's presence at this point. The polite thing would have been to ask her to leave, but then again, when was Eric Northman known to be something anywhere near pleasantries and politeness? None. Furthermore, and perhaps more worryingly, Eric normally couldn't wait to include Sookie in his nefarious plots and schemes, with or without her consent. To be dismissed so quickly meant that this was more private, more serious, than Sookie had first thought and curiosity, hot and burning, clung to her lungs, begging her to question, to stay, to uncover this mystery.

However, Sookie did get a feeling that this wasn't her fight, not a situation meant for her to be witness to, and as a favour for Bill and a nod to his own privacy, Sookie let her hand drop and took a step away to head towards the door. After all, hadn't their argument moments prior to Eric's abrupt arrival been just about that? About Sookie being excluded, about Bill hiding things from her, about Sookie's habit of digging into things she had no business digging into? Perhaps now was the time she could show him that she knew when to let well enough alone… Sometimes. Now it was Bill's turn for his hand to shoot out, to grab gently but assuredly onto the crux of her elbow, stopping all attempt at her leaving.

"Sookie can stay. I have nothing to hide from her."

The smile on Eric's face was simply devilish as he kicked away from the wall, prowling closer, so close he nearly crossed that invisible line.

"Oh, are you so sure of that Bill?"

Sookie swallowed, eyeing the space between Eric and Bill, wondering if either one would do what they obviously both wanted and cross that line. Sanguini, however, seemed to be in no mood to play the other two vampire's games.

"In the latter half of the 1980's, you were roaming the streets of London, correct?"

Bill glowered, and his hand disconnected from her, sliding into the pocket of his pants, retreating, jaw clenching as he scanned Sanguini. Eric smiled, as if he had won their little battle, and flopped onto the coach, arms spanning the back like a hawk spreading its wings. Or a vulture.

"You know I was."

Eric, once again, placed himself right into the centre of the conversation.

"What were you doing in London?"

Bill sighed, even though he needed no breath and strolled over to the fireplace, staring down and into the dancing red flames. Sookie wondered what he saw there then, as, with his back to the other vampires, but with a clear view for Sookie, she saw a shadow pass his eyes. Pain. Keen, oozing pain. Something about London, something about the 80s, hurt him. It hurt him deeply.

"I met the authority there. They showed me the proper way to live. The just way."

 _Mainstreaming._ He had learnt to mainstream, consume true blood rather than human blood, back there, in London, in the 1980's. Was that what upset him so? That he had only turned to mainstreaming so, for a vampire, relatively recently? Did he believe she would think little of him for knowing this? No. He should know her better, especially by now. Sanguini, however, gave Sookie another piece of the puzzle that was slowly but surely falling around her.

"You also met some… Friends there, didn't you? Peter, Remus, Sirius, James…"

The pain on Bill's face turned to anguish, icy and sluggish, before he wiped his face clean. the walls of determination, the guard of self-preservation, falling around him like armour, giving him a look of marble and stone as his spine straightened and he swivelled to regard the vampires in the room.

"Yes."

Bill's voice betrayed him. It was tight, locked, biting. Sookie wanted to place a hand upon his shoulder, to squeeze, to offer support, but she was stuck in place, as taught and displaced as Bill's voice, confused and yet… intrigued. Sanguini grinned and Sookie knew, just knew, he was going in for the kill. It was the same sort of smile Tara got seconds before she decided to verbally tear someone apart, where she knew just the right words to hurt someone, to cut them to the bone.

"Oh, and we can't forget Lily-"

"You don't get to say her name! Not after what you did."

Bill cut Sanguini off with a growl, a flash forward, so close, his nose was almost pressed into the other vampires. Sookie's heart sped up, thundering in her chest, but Sanguini only laughed. It was slick and wet, like oil. Questions swirled around Sookie's mind. Who was this Lily, this woman who had garnered such a… Protective sort of aggression by the mere mention of her name, from her Bill? Sookie's mouth opened to ask just that when she saw Eric, watching her, waiting, looking for a weakness no doubt, to prod at later. Despite her curiosity, just to watch Eric not get what he wanted, she stubbornly clamped her mouth shut once more. She would not fight with Bill. Not in front of these vampires at least. Her tension was still running high from their fight before, she would not willingly add fuel to that fire.

Nonetheless, Sanguini looked like he wanted to burn the entire town down as he pushed himself further into Bill's space, forcing the shorter vampire back a step, coiling like a viper. It was then, as his neck pushed forward to loom over Bill that Sookie saw the bandage wrapped around his neck, speckled with blood. She had never seen a vampire wear a plaster or bandage before. They didn't need to. They healed so fast…

"What? Made them forget about you? Changed their memories? Sent them away? Of course I did! I did what any respectable vampire would have done! Your relationship wasn't natural! You-"

Bill would not be cowed so easily, and really, Sookie had never seen that fire in his eyes before, that sort of anger, that rage. It almost scared her.

"Not I, you! You inserted yourself into matters that did not concern you! You saw something unique, beautiful, and you burnt it to the ground because you wanted to hurt me! You've always wanted to-"

"I wanted to protect you both!"

Silence crashed around them like a nuclear bomb. The only sound Sookie could hear was the beat of her own heart, nearly deafening by now. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. It took six heartbeats before Sanguini crumpled, pulling away, huffing and spitting as he, uncharacteristically for a vampire, scrubbed at his eyes. It was odd, Sookie would admit, seeing a vampire such as he, obviously old and intimidating, act so… Human. Sanguini paced back and forth, three steps left, sharp turn, three steps right before he pointed an accusing finger at Bill.

" _They_ knew Bill. The ministry… They _knew_. The night I sent them away, the minister had already sent out a squadron of Aurors to… _Deal_ with the problem. And you know how the ministry of magic deals with vampires and vampire 'sympathisers' or 'apologists', don't you? Did you want that? Did you want to see Lily burned at the stake for _fraternizing_ with the enemy? Did you want to see her tortured and killed? Or to simply vanish and wash up on some beach in Scotland where no one knew her name and her body would be left to rot in the sun? And oh… What they would have done to you… The message they would have sent with your desecrated body…"

Jarringly, Sanguini came to a stop, so still, so limp, it was like everything, from blood to bones had been drained out of him, sucked and pulled and he was nothing but an empty husk, a shell. The sight of him there, ashen and so very, very dead, scared Sookie more than his confusing tale could ever do.

"So yes, Bill. I changed their memories and sent them away. I killed the Aurors, faked some memories and I doctored some files. I had to. You and Lily would have been killed if I had not and the wizarding world would have gotten what they always wanted. A solid reason to declare war on our species. I'm not sorry for what I did. I'm only sorry I didn't do it sooner."

Leisurely, Sookie tried to piece the information together. In the 80s, Bill was in London. He met some people there, Sirius, Remus, Peter, James and Lily. They were friends… Bile rose up in Sookie's throat. Lily… More than friends, Sookie would guess and, unreasonably, a spike of jealously hit her right in the sternum. Sookie shook her head, determinedly squashing that feeling down hard and fast. She had no reason to be jealous. Bill was here, with her and he, of course, had a life before Bon Temps. Then it struck her. _Wizarding world. Ministry of magic. Aurors._ Witches and Wizards… They were _real._ Sweet mother Mary… They were fucking real? What was that now? Vampires and wizards and witches, whatever she was? What was next? Goblins? Werewolves? Fucking Fairies? For a long moment, she spiralled at the doors that were opening up to her, showing their faces. These wizards had a minister, a ministry, a government. Bill's voice, soft and gentle, broke Sookie out of her whirling mind.

"She's… She's dead, isn't she? The Lily that died in the war-… It was the same one, wasn't it?"

Sanguini cocked a brow.

"I see you've been keeping up with the wizarding war. How much do you know?"

Now there was a war too? Vampires had been out of the coffin for a good few years yet and still, humans, she, none of them had any idea of the things, the creatures that prowled their world. How could they miss a war? Were these wizards and witches simply that good at hiding, or did humans in general just turn to blissful ignorance? Sookie had a deflating feeling that it was a touch of both. Bill, however, was having no trouble keeping up.

"The basics. The ministry of magic is good at keeping their world airlocked, but some news still leaks. Especially news as big as a species wide war. I heard Lily and James's son survived? Harry? That he led the fight?"

Sanguini refused to meet Bill's eyes.

"Harriet, but she goes by Harry, yes. Bill… James was sterile. He couldn't have kids."

Bill nodded but there was a crease there, between his brows.

"So, Lily and Sirius? I couldn't quite picture that myself but-"

"Sirius was in love with Remus. Anyone with eyes could see that."

Bill blinked, and blinked, and blinked. Sookie, at this point, had no hope of catching up, to know exactly what was going on, she was only along for the ride now. However, later, you could bet she was going to interrogate Bill. How could she not? Witches and wizards, real? That wasn't something you just let slip passed you. Sanguini, realizing Bill was not getting whatever he was hinting towards, took off on a rather… Strange tangent.

"Did you know witches gestate for fifteen months? Werewolves gestate for seventeen. A fairy, I heard, is pregnant for only five months. Dhampir's, however, have the longest gestation period. Twenty-five months. Just over two years."

The world swam around her and shakily, Sookie scooted to a chair, slipping on. Werewolves. Witches. Wizards. Fairies. Dhampir's, whatever they were… Was anybody human? Was anybody truly normal in this world? What right did she have to be surprised, she, herself, wasn't normal, was she? Oh, no. But she had always wanted to be, dreamed to be, and now, what even was normal anymore?

"How does this have anything to do with whatever you're here for?"

At Bill's question, Sookie tried, by god almighty, did she try and get back into the room, to be present, to push her errant thoughts away for later. Always later. Sanguini did not try and dodge the question this time. It seemed, to Sookie at least, if hinting wasn't going to work, he would spell it out for them.

"Harriet was born on the thirty-first of July 1991. I sent you and Lily apart in December 1989."

Sookie didn't understand the climax, but Bill sure did. Yet again, for the first time, even when she had already witnessed him being drained from V addicts, Sookie had never seen him this dazed before as he took a crooked step backwards, his accent thick and rolling like sea fog.

"No… No. Dhampirs aren't real. They're a myth, a fable, told to scare newly turned vampires from disobeying their makers and-"

"Harry died on July thirty-first this year. She was seventeen… She woke up in August Bill."

Sanguini wouldn't let up. He had Bill in a corner now, floundering, denying something, refuting it, right where he wanted him, and he wasn't going to give away ground.

"No. You're lying. Lies. Why would you do this? Was tearing me and Lily apart not enough for you? Now you want to play some sick game with her-"

"Harry's never been bitten by a vampire. She's never digested any vampire blood. Harriet Lillian Potter is a Dhampir, and James was not her father…"

Sookie was tired. She was tired of this verbal battle. She was tired of the confusion. She was tired of Eric's smug smile. She was tired of Pam's sly grin. She was tired of Bill being flustered. She was tired of always being behind, of never knowing what or who or when something was coming or going. She needed answers. If she and Bill were ever really going to work, if they were ever going to be equals, she couldn't be kept in the dark any longer. She pulled up from her seat, looked Bill dead in the eye and her tone left no room for rebuttal, dismissal or substitution.

"Bill, what's a Dhampir?"

Sookie's stomach squirmed, like it was full of maggots, squirming, nibbling. She thought she already knew. She may not be the brightest bulb, but she wasn't stupid. She just wanted Bill to say it. To hear it from him, for once, just once, for him not to try and keep her sheltered, to give her answers, to not leave her behind in some twisted act of trying to protect her. Yet, Eric was the one to answer her.

"A Dhampir is the child of a mortal woman, human or witch, with a vampire."

Sookie took in a deep breath. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had misheard something, or didn't quite understand. Vampires were _dead._ Dead. They couldn't have-… They couldn't…

"You mean a pregnant woman is bitten and-"

Eric's head pitched to the side, like a puppy spotting something plushie and chewable.

"Don't be so naive Sookie. You know exactly what I mean. When a vampire lusts after a woman very, very much, they both get naked and-"

Bill snapped.

"Eric! Enough!"

Eric, for a beat, looked ready to lunge at Bill for being spoken to in such a manner, but he only settled back in his chair with a nod of his head, as if he was silently telling Bill it was his mess, he should clean it up. For Sookie, the painting fell into place. Two years pregnant. London. The timing. A war. Bill had… Has a child… A girl… A real child, with his DNA, his blood, his genetic makeup. There was a storm of emotion inside of Sookie, wreaking havoc, but nothing was quite what she expected when she finally received the revelation she was half fearing but needing to hear. She wasn't jealous. She wasn't angry. She wasn't hurt or confused. She felt… Compassion.

There had been a _war._ A seventeen-year-old girl, a child, had fought it and died only to wake up as a… Dhampir. A _child._ What monsters made a child fight or lead a war? Sookie loved Bill. She loved him dearly and this child was a part of him, she carried around a little bit of Bill and she had been in a war… It wasn't alright. It wasn't okay. It wasn't fine. Was she hurt? Was she scared? Sookie turned to face Sanguini.

"Is she okay? Is she safe?"

Sanguini nodded but Bill took up the mantle, his confusion slowly ebbing away to an almost frantic need.

"Where is she? Is she in London or-"

Eric cut him off.

"She's in my car. Or, at least, that's where I told her to wait. Sanguini here was bringing her to you but she awoke too soon. She's carved a pretty little path of corpses and destruction through our vampire neighbours before I found her."

Sookie frowned.

"Vampires?"

Sanguini nodded.

"Aye, Dhampirs hunt and feed off Vampires, not humans. They're notoriously hungry in their first few months, hunger they can't control, but luckily, it fades... In time. The real problem with Dhampirs is they also nearly completely lack any sort of impulse control. They see food, they eat. They want to bite, they bite. They want a fuck, they'll fuck. Their clothes itch, they'll strip and strut around naked. They want a nap, they'll lay down and sleep even if it's in the middle of a busy highway. The sound of your voice annoys them, they'll break your neck or rip out your voice box. They think it might be fun to jump off a building, they'll leap without second guessing. They get any idea in their head and they do it. Their lack of impulse control makes them deadly to all species. They don't give up, they don't give in, they never fold."

Sanguini took a moment to gather his thoughts before carrying on.

"However, it is also a weakness. Their greatest one. They cause more harm to themselves than anything else. It's been known that a Dhampir has gotten curious about what can and can't kill them before and, in acting out this curiosity, without any impulse control, they've killed themselves. Ripped their own head clean off just because they wanted to know what it felt like. A Dhampir's sire is often the only one who can get through to them, to curb their impulses, to convince them not to carry out certain ones most of the time. To tell them it's a bad idea, or at least, can order them not to do it. That's why she _needs_ Bill. It's the only reason I've brought her here."

Everything was so confusing. Her little world had been tipped right up on its head and left was up and down was right and nothing was as it should have been. Witches and wizards were real. Bill had a biological child who… Ate other vampires and apparently, if struck by an idea or whim to slaughter the whole town, would carry it out without a second thought. Jessica was having trouble adjusting to her new life and…

A foreboding shadow crept its way across Sookie's skin, the hair on the back of her neck and arms raising. Dhampirs were able to feed and hunt off vampires, not an easy feat, leading Sookie to believe they were quite dangerous. Perhaps the most if their food source was something as strong, fast and tricky as a vampire. They, according to Sanguini, couldn't control their hunger and if it was hungry, unable to deny even the most simplest of impulses, it would feed. Sookie, Bill, Sanguini, Pam and Eric were all in one room, safe in their numbers. Jessica was upstairs, alone and thinking back, Sookie had not heard a single noise come from upstairs. Not a creak of a floorboard, a groan of a bed or a slam of a door.

"Bill… Where's Jessica?"

Bill hesitated.

"I sent her to her room. She's fine-"

Eric was up in a bolt.

"I told you to send her away, not to her room!"

Then he was gone, flashing out of the room with that inhuman speed of his, Pam hot on his tail with Sanguini soon following them. Bill glanced back at her.

"Stay."

And then he too was gone, leaving Sookie to a roaring fire and anxiety. Sookie, however, was never any good at listening and dashed out of the front room, through the hallway and out the front door the vampires had left open. She needed to know Jessica was okay. That Bill would be. What if this Dhampir turned its hunger to him? Sanguini had just told them this Dhampir, all Dhampirs, had no impulse control.

"Harry, stop!"

That was Bill's voice, bright and tumultuous. Sookie's trainers pounded harder against the gravel. She made it just in time to see, beneath an oak tree, the three vampires' circling. By the trunk was a short girl, dressed in an oxford shirt, hair alive and wild. She was bent over something, holding it to her chest, neck and face obscured as her shoulders quaked. It was only as she pulled back, staggering back a step or two, a loud click ringing out, that Sookie realized what she was holding.

 _Jessica._

The girl, Harry, turned to face them, fangs away, mouth, chin and neck smothered in blood, and she… Smiled. It was such an innocent smile, all daisy and summer breeze, that the scene around them didn't fit. She looked like a child who had a chocolate moustache standing next to a destroyed cookie tray, not a Dhampir who had been draining Bill's Childe.

"I was hungry."

Her voice was light, airy, with a hint of smoke. So matter of fact, easy going, like she had been stating the sky was blue, or asking whether that cloud looked like a hotdog or not. Unceremoniously, without much thought, she dropped Jessica and kicked her over, as if Jessica was nothing but a ball or a toy that she had grown bored of. Harry watched with wide, inquisitive eyes as Bill dashed for Jessica, checking over her neck wound, listening to the dazed vampire mutter something about games and fun. Sanguini's voice echoed in Sookie's mind. _They see food, they eat. They want to bite, they bite._ Eric stepped in closer to the Dhampir, almost cautiously, if Northman could do such a thing.

"I told you that I would take you out hunting later."

He sounded more indulgent than reprimanding. The Dhampirs neck snapped around as she eyed up Eric. Honestly, in that moment, she looked confused, unable to discern what she had done wrong, why they were all so weary of her. Perhaps she really, truly, didn't and couldn't understand what she had done. No impulse control meant no idea of repercussions or consequences. Bundle that in with a creature that could match a vampire and well…

"You said not to drain the blonde or the brunette… That one's ginger. You never said anything about the ginger."

Hell's gate was opening up right underneath Sookie's feet.

* * *

So, one of Harry's weakness's have made an appearance! I thought having a creature, especially one like a Dhampir, with little to no impulse control would be fascinating to write about. Vampire mythology especially, is all about those who give in to their 'impure' impulses. In Dhampir's, I've simply maxed that out to the extreme. I mean, can you imagine having no impulse control? Seeing something like an iron, hot, and wondering huh, how bad would that hurt? And then bam, you've gone and put your hand right on it. It makes them dangerous, infinitely so, but at the same time, it's completely detrimental too. I thought it would be a good balance to the creature, the type of Dhampir, I'm trying to create, and I hope you guys like this idea too!

On the first part of this chapter, Jessica's P.O.V, I really wanted to mirror classical vampire literature. In most vampire fables or legends, the most likely person to be attacked would be a disinterested and/or disenchanted woman/girl. One who wanted to be free, who was bored or too 'lively' for the times they lived in. Jessica fit that role perfectly, especially season 2 Jessica, in which this is placed just barely before. Of course, originally, these tales worked as a warning to women, who were often the victims of vampire attacks in legend, as a sort of, _deal with your lot and be happy,_ or a, _it's wrong to feel this way and if you do, a vampire's going to get you!_ Normally, the vampire would then tempt them out, goad them into following them, not because they often had to, but because, especially in gothic literature, vampires LOVED mind games. It was part of the hunt for them. I, personally, wanted Harry to begin to display those traits. Not only does it help bring Harry into the vampire fold further than she already is, but when the time comes for Harry to start dealing with what she is now to what she used to be, I think this will be a perfect problem she will have with herself because, in my mind, Harry would see this as something Tom Riddle would do, not her, and it will later bring in some self-reflection on what and who she is now and what that all means for her.

As for Sookie feeling a little jealous of Lily in the beginning of this chapter, I thought it fit her character well. Before Sookie knows Lorena is Bill's maker, she's incredibly jealous of her, and time and time again, Sookie has shown jealously to be one of her flaws. She's jealous of other people not being able to read minds. She's jealous of her friends for having 'normal' lives. She's jealous of Lorena and Bill and really, Bill with any other woman. However, Sookie is also compassionate, and I wanted that to show when she pushes that Jealously away to ask if Harry, a person she has never met, is well and safe.

In the end, I want to write complex characters, none of them are perfect and I thought highlighting Sookie's flaws before showing her strengths would lend to this theme.

Well, here's chapter three! I really hope you all like it!

 _ **THANK YOU**_ for all the follows, favourites and of course, the reviews! As always, if you have a moment, please drop a review off, they keep my muses spinning on their heads.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FOUR: A LUCKY BASTARD.**

* * *

 **Sookie's P.O.V**

The sound of splitting plastic, the stretch and rip of IV bags, was the only sound rumbling out from Bill's living room. Sookie hoped, by the Mother Mary herself, did she hope the erratic echo of rhythmic gulping she _thought_ she heard was just that; a frightening thought.

Harriet was the sole inhabitant of the dusty room, perched precariously close to the lit fireplace, a black duffel bag containing multiple IV bags of, what Sookie was hesitant to guess, vampire blood unceremoniously flung besides her.

She was making diligent work of exhausting the duffel bag, forming her own little pile of empty IV bags crushed at the other side of her as she meticulously tore through the thick plastic with her sharp teeth and drained each one before the poor husks were dumped in the discarded pile that was gaining height with every passing minute.

"I'm not even going to ask where or how you obtained so much vampire blood, Northman."

Bill's voice drolled. Eric's only answer was a small smile as he too watched on as Harriet feasted, a little grin of flashing white and keen lips that unsettled Sookie.

They had managed to wrangle the Dhampir into the house relatively easy once Eric had produced the duffel bag from the boot of his car, and goaded Harriet in with the promise of a sweet treat. Since then, the young girl had been entirely swept up in her little prize to pay any of them much attention.

However, as Sookie personally knew, getting between any sort of vampire and what they considered food was, indeed, a very bad idea and so, their little group, Bill, Sanguini, Pam, Eric, Jessica and herself had vacated themselves out into the hallway to give the girl as much room as she needed. Yet, still give them a vantage point in watching said girl should she begin to lose interest in food and, unfortunately, gain curiosity in one of them.

"Are you alright?"

Sookie asked quietly, as she pulled herself away from the daunting visage of the Dhampir gorging itself, and in turn, scanned Jessica who had been seated in a chair in the hallway of Bill's home.

Sanguini was crouching next to her, going through the arduous motions of bandaging the gaping wound slicing across her neck. Sookie's stomach rolled at the sight of it. It was a nasty thing. Jagged and weeping and tattered. Ribbons of flesh around an eerily mouth shaped hole.

If Jessica was human, she would have been dead within seconds.

As a vampire, it would, as Sanguini had told her, still take perhaps weeks to heal.

Harriet didn't even have a hair out of place.

There was something extremely unnerving about something that could do such a thing, cause _such_ damage, and yet look fresh as a daisy.

It took a while before Jessica blinked back into awareness, a pretty little frown crunching at her brows, her voice abrasive, sore and not once, not even for a second, did her eyes focus on Sookie or anything else in the room.

"I didn't even know she was feeding on me until she dropped me… She was in my head… I could feel her… I was on the beach… Running… Laughing…"

From over Sookie's shoulder, Pam scoffed.

"You got hoodwinked, kid. Glamoured. Pretty well, by the sounds of it. Explains how Bill wasn't alerted through the Maker-bond. Kid didn't even know she was getting fed on, or in danger, until she was being discarded. Nifty trick."

Bill and Eric, who had been standing on the threshold of the living room door, almost as if they were acting as guards between them and the girl, so small, so delicate… _So dangerous_ , feeding in the other room, turned to answer simultaneously and that, as frightful as it was, was all Harriet needed.

One little moment.

One little brief respite from being watched.

Just a glance away.

 _One._

Before a single word could be spoken, the scamper of bare feet rang out, followed by a gruff, decadent chuckle that faded into smoke and shadows. Both Eric and Bill snapped their attention back to the room in front of them.

"Shit."

Eric hissed as he swivelled back around, gaze trailing around them, searching, as he edged around the hallway as Bill crept into the front room. Sookie frowned as her heart skipped a beat before it began hammering against her ribs.

 _Please, sweet baby Jesus, don't let it be what she was thinking it was._

Without Bill and Eric blocking the doorway, Sookie got a good view into the front room and found, as she dreaded, apart from a searching Bill, it was _empty._

Two seconds. Just two seconds without a gaze upon her, and the Dhampir was _gone._ Bill came skidding out of the living room just as Sanguini was heaving Jessica up from her seat, snagging Sookie by the arm and dragging them both into the middle of the large hallway, pinning the two, arguably, weakest members of their rag-tag group between a condensing Bill, Sanguini, Eric and Pam.

"Stick together. The blood-bags might not have worked as well as I hoped they would, and she could still be hungry."

Eric warned and Sookie wanted to hit him. Why did he sound so entertained by the fact? Wasn't it he, his kind, that Harriet would go for? Wasn't _he_ the one in danger? Sweet mother Mary. _Tuesday night_. It was a Tuesday night, and everything had gone to hell in a bloodstained basket.

Instead of soaking in the bath on her one night off, Sookie was left playing peek-a-boo with a highly dangerous creature. The hallway light flickered just a smidgeon, a fraction, along with the tiniest of jingles, crystal nudging crystal.

"Harriet? Harriet, come out!"

Bill's frantic voice was just a thrumming background noise, static, to Sookie's thumping heart as her neck craned backwards, uncomfortably so, to look up at the chandelier hanging directly above them.

Incredibly green eyes clashed against her brown.

The Dhampir… Harriet, was perched impossibly so on the very top of the chandelier, balancing precariously on two of the over sweeping bars, watching them huddle like cattle, hanging onto the light cord with one hand and holding a full IV bag in the other, squatting.

Waiting.

Watching.

 _Stalking._

It should have been impossible, the chandelier should have given out from her weight, and yet, when had anything made sense since Sookie had met Bill? There she was, dangling above them, ready to drop and-

"Bill…"

Sookie whispered as Harriet cocked her head, peering down at them. It was then that Sookie realised what it was exactly that unsettled her so about this image burning itself into her brain.

Harriet, despite being in the light, didn't cast a shadow. Not even a wisp of one. As if she wasn't solid herself, just an apparition, a ghost. There was something innately disturbing about something that didn't have a shadow. Disturbing and terrifying.

Bill glanced towards Sookie and then followed her gaze upwards when she wouldn't speak any further. Sookie couldn't look away, speak or breathe, until Harry's gaze snapped towards Bill, watching as he tried to smile at her and took a lone step closer, leaving the sanctuary of their little bunched grouping.

For a flash, Sookie wanted to reach out and drag him back, away, but stomped down on the urge. For one, it would do nothing. Bill was stronger than she and would just shirk out from under her straining grip. Two, she was almost afraid to move herself, in case the Dhampir took that as invitation. And finally, three, she knew in her mind that this was just a young girl, lost to her own instincts, hungry, and rightfully weary of being in a strange place with strange people.

Yet, every time Sookie tried to remind herself of that, this _was_ just a girl, a young girl, a girl who _could_ be as scared of them as Sookie was of her… She saw her huddled over Jessica, mouth bloodstained and gleaming in the night.

Smiling.

God, she had nearly killed Jessica and all she had done was _smile._

Bill hesitantly tried to coax the girl down.

"Harriet… Harry, it's okay… We're not going to hurt you…"

There was no blur, no sign of tense muscle, nothing to give them a heads-up or warning. One moment Harry was on the chandelier, the next she was crouching on the ground, just a few feet away from them. A blink and she was there. Right in front of them.

 _One more blink and they could all be dead and-_

The hairs on the back of Sookie's neck rose up in unison, her gut trundled, and her heart jumped into her throat.

Around vampires, even for Sookie, there was always this sense of… Danger. A little niggle that felt like you were sitting next to a relaxed tiger. It was always just a hint of it, a taste. With Harriet, be it herself or the fact she was something called a Dhampir, that feeling tripled itself, blanketed the room, smothered Sookie until she thought she couldn't breathe.

It no longer felt like sitting next to a tiger at rest, but already having her head inside its ravenous maw, the beast awake and aware and angry and salivating, seconds from biting down and chomping and chewing and-

Oh god, they were all going to-

"You're scared of me. I can smell it."

Harriet's voice was contradictory to the feeling, the aura, she exuded. It was soft and light, feathery, calm and easy, like a lullaby. It only made the feeling all the more severe until Sookie was sure she could taste her own unease, coppery, on the tip of her tongue.

Especially when, to pin her point home, Harriet's nostrils flared as her gaze lazily trailed to a flustered Jessica. Sookie's jaw tensed.

What if Harriet didn't like the smell of fear and decided to get rid of it? Worse, what if she _did_ like it a bit too much? What was stopping her from any of this? As Sanguini explained, she had no impulse control and that alone, once seeing what that brought in the wounds decorating all Sanguini, Eric and Jessica, was _horrifying._

Nevertheless, the young girl surprised Sookie when all she did was stand, drop the blood bag she was holding in one hand onto the floor and kicked it over, calmly watching as it rolled and stopped at Jessica's feet.

 _A peace offering._

Harriet likely didn't understand that what she ate was different to them, her food couldn't heal them like it did her. But still, the sign was there, telling enough. She was trying to communicate, in her own instinctual way.

Perhaps it was more lost on Sookie because, unlike the others in the room, she had and never was a vampire, and couldn't fully grasp the concepts of what that meant. Bill had told her enough times that they, vampires, were intrinsically different, their emotions shifted, alien to humans, their thoughts altered and even more bizarre.

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

Jessica's faltering voice was cut off by Harriet bearing her teeth, the click of her fangs descending, a vicious growl cleaving through her chest and throat. Whatever Jessica had done, be it her tone, her refusal or the words she used, Harriet _didn't_ like it. And when a Dhampir didn't like something…

Apparently, neither did Eric as he reached out and grabbed Jessica's arm, glaring down at the redhead.

"Take it."

Jessica scrambled to bend down, picking up the blood bag as the rancorous roar stopped when the offering was in her hand.

 _Okay,_ well, at least Sookie knew now, to a vampire, particularly a Dhampir, the refusal of an offering of food was a hugely impolite gesture.

She would remember that.

However, Sookie hardly had enough time to process this newfound knowledge as, then, as Sookie blinked, Harriet was in front of her, staring deeply, brows tight and knotted in the middle. Once again, her nostrils flared and Sookie's heart stopped completely.

Vampires _loved_ the smell of her.

She knew that well enough.

And here she was, Harriet, a vampire to vampires themselves, sniffing and-

But then, against the attack Sookie was expecting, the lunge and scrape and snap of teeth into her tender neck, Harriet recoiled back a fraction, nose crinkled and hand swiping at her face, eyes slatted as she hissed like a pissed alley cat.

Before Bill, or anybody, could intervene, Harriet was back, hand around Sookie's neck, constricting and bruisingly tight, squeezing even further as she lifted, lifted right up until Sookie, this time, _really_ couldn't breath and her feet were dangling, hanging, and-

With a fling, Sookie became airborne, sailing right towards the front door. It happened in a moment. It happened in a lifetime. Time seemed to stop having any sort of clear meaning. She felt the gust of wind. She felt herself bend in the air, flying, drifting, and she had one sorrowful, a little pathetic, thought.

 _This was it._

Thankfully, it wasn't.

Lucky for her, Bill was _fast_.

Perhaps as fast as his, clearly homicidal, daughter.

Arms draped around her, safe and comforting, cloaked, as she was again spinning, as she was whirled away from the door and crashed to the floor with a thud and a harsh knock of wind from her aching lungs. Just barely over the thundering of her heart, the gruff coughing fit of her throat finally being free from a suffocating hold, Bill gently helping her to a stand, checking her over with a frantic sort of need, Sookie heard Sanguini questioning Harriet tartly.

"Harry, what on earth do you think-"

Harry's answering tone was clipped and cold.

So very fucking cold.

"She smells _foul._ "

Gradually, Bill helped Sookie back to a stand on her shaking legs, keeping her boxed close to the front door, as far from Harriet as possible. Sookie simply tried to regain the breath that had been struck from her as she was tossed across the wide hallway.

"Then you _ask_ her to leave. You don't just throw people around, Harriet."

Bill declared almost disappointedly. From over Bill's shoulder, still huffing in lungful's of breath, Sookie peeked at Harriet as her head swivelled like a puppy's, innocent and wide-eyed.

"Why?"

It was such a sincere question, so befuddled and lost, that finally, the fear Sookie felt prickling at her skin and nipping at her neck lapped away as understanding dawned. Sookie's heart broke for the young girl.

She really _was_ like a puppy.

New and unbound, unsure but _primal_.

In a flicker, on the back of her eyelids, Sookie saw Bill from what felt like a lifetime ago, grinning at her in that soft, indulgent way he did, slightly lopsided but so gentle…

 _Sookie, you cannot be frightened of everythin' you don't know in this world…_

The truth was, Bill _wasn't_ human.

Harriet _wasn't_ human.

From what Sookie could understand of all this, Perhaps, unlike her father, unlike the rest of the vampires here, Harriet had _never_ been human.

She had played the part once, perhaps reached as close to it as she possibly could, perhaps she had convinced herself she was in desperation, perhaps that too was a Dhampir's survival tactic, but…

 _But._

She wasn't. Harriet was not, and never had been, human. No on in this room, apart from herself, currently was.

Sookie couldn't hold them to the same expectations. There was so much, so _very_ much, she still didn't understand about their race. Somethings she thought she would never understand, no matter how many times Bill explained it to her.

Sookie didn't belong here.

Not right now.

Gently, she laid her palm on Bill's shoulder.

"It isn't her fault…"

Sookie straightened out, hand falling limply from rubbing at her quickly bruising neck to swing at her side. She shouldn't be here. Not for this. It wasn't her place. She would only make things worse.

Harriet's reaction to her was evidence enough for that.

And Bill, the man Sookie loved more than she thought she could ever love anybody, didn't need this whole mess to get any worse.

"I'm going to head home, give you some time to… Well, come see me tomorrow, if you have the time?"

Bill's gaze finally left Harry and shot to her. Something traitorous inside her, that slick needy little voice of a child who had their parents snatched from her, who grew up with no friends, laughed at, ridiculed, begged for Bill to decline.

To fight for her.

To _choose_ her over this stranger who was obviously dangerous and-

And it was a little voice. A voice Sookie was working hard to completely erase. She wasn't perfect. She was insecure. Needy. Sometimes she put her nose into things it had no business being in because, dammit, the thought of not being in control of a situation for any given length of time reminded her of that house and her uncle and those wondering hands and thoughts and-

No.

Reluctantly, Bill nodded, and Sookie sighed.

Oh, she would be here for them, _both_ , if they needed her, but right here and now? She was no help, only hindrance and she needed to learn to take a step back. She couldn't control everything. Slowly, she slinked to the front door and slipped through, mentally wishing them all well and good luck.

She was sure they were going to need it.

* * *

 **Harry's P.O.V**

Now that the appalling stench had wafted away with the swift parting of the blonde woman, and the hunger twisting at her gut wasn't so lurid and loud, Harry found she could now string two coherent thoughts together as she lolled back in front of the fireplace in the living room.

She liked the fire.

She liked being close to it.

The flames scorched her bare legs.

 _Burned._

There was something pleasant about that.

Something that made her feel…

Alive.

Harry was alive and that, well, that felt _fantastic._

Of course, she didn't think the rest in the room felt the same way. Not with the way mister frowny, downy, ginger-spice and barbie were skirting the walls. Viking didn't seem to mind that much, but the others? They did, and Harry found she-

Huh.

She found she didn't really care.

Not a bit. Not much. Not at all.

 _That_ was different.

Was it?

She thought Harry, the Harry of… Before might of cared. She might have cared a whole fucking lot. But she, this Harry, didn't. There was something…

A film.

Sticky.

Dense.

It smothered _everything_.

Memory. Feeling. Sense. She tried to look back, remember, but it felt horrendously… Abstract. A her but _not_ her. A diary she had read and dreamt of, learned word for word, lived through, but was never really _hers_. She had only _thought_ it had been. Harry found she didn't want to look back. It was hard to concentrate as it was without muddying the waters anymore than she had to.

So many feelings, textures, senses, obnoxiously noisy urges to explore. Smelling, something Harry had never really given much thought to before, was quickly turning into her favourite. So many delightful treasures to be found lurking in the air, Just waiting to be picked like roses.

The redhead, ginger-spice-Jessica, who was standing near the window, was petrified. She tasted salty, sharp, poignant. Yes, it was definitely fear underlying her rose-berry scent.

The other blonde woman, barbie-Pam, reeked of something fresh and clean, all summer breeze and spring rain, but there, skulking in the corners was a stiffness, like damp stone. _She was hesitant and weary_.

Downy-Sanguini stunk of old parchment, ink and grass, but the yellow kind, dying… _He was tired_.

Frowny-Bill, sipped like evergreens, dew and mulled wine, but brittle, sandy-… _Frustrated_.

The big blonde one, Viking-Eric, the one she had bit, smelled of blanketing snow, arctic ocean, with a twist of heady spice was…

Harry took another sharp sniff.

 _Amused? Excited?_

That wasn't quite right.

Something high and saccharine and keen, rakish like honeyed mead dusted his scent.

Still not right.

Harry couldn't pin that smell, but she _liked_ it. It was hot and heavy and made her gums ache as her fangs threatened to fall. Yet, it was all too much. All their smells, all their voices, all _this_ , the light and sensitivity, the hunger and pain, and still, Sanguini wouldn't leave her alone as he broke the small peaceful silence that had enveloped itself around them.

"Do you remember anything Harry?"

Remember?

She remembered how ginger-spice tasted. Sweet, almost sickly so, berries picked too soon and-

 _Young._

She tasted young and Harry didn't like it.

She tasted nothing like Viking.

Rich. Intoxicating. Decadent. Mouth-wateringly-

They were all looking at her.

Watching.

Harry scowled as she veered to glimpse at the flames at her side. They flickered and danced, licking and lapping over one another.

"I remember _everything_."

And that was the problem.

Harriet Potter remembered everything, and none of it made sense.

She remembered her first memory, the splatter of mould in her cupboard that looked like a constellation of stars, right up to her last, the sight of packets and boxes and empty wrappers littering the kitchen of Grimmauld place as she tried, tried so fucking hard, to get the hunger to stop and let her rest and-

She remembered it all, and none of it was _her_.

She knew those memories were ones she, once, had created. She even remembered the feelings attached to her memories. The crushing sorrow when Sirius tumbled through the Veil. The liberating triumph of watching Tom Riddles mutated carcass fall to the courtyard of Hogwarts. The bubbling cheer at a Weasley's Yule dinner.

So many memories.

So many feelings.

It made her _sick._

An endless plethora of emotions and passions and sentiments. Yet, now, sitting here, there was a… Disconnect. A sticky-dense film separating her from then and-

Sick.

They made her sick and tired.

A ripple in the reflection.

Remembering made her feel like she was trying to squeeze herself into a suit of skin too fragile, too tight, too thorny. It _hurt._ A skin she had shed like a snake. Harry didn't understand why she felt that way, but she did. Merlin, she _did._

Neither did she understand before-Harry's choices, so strange and peculiar, or why she had done the things she had done before she had, rudely, winked to stuttering life in the back of a moving truck.

Some things still made sense, in a bizarre, distant way, like she was looking at them from the top of a lighthouse, searching through the fog to find truth.

Hermione had been valuable. She was smart and often spotted the little details Harry missed. There was a use there to be had. Ron, on the other hand, complained too much, offered little and Morgana, the way he ate?

No.

He would simply have to _go._

So why hadn't she gotten rid of him before?

And why had she trusted Dumbledore so?

Why had she put up with the Dursleys?

It would have been so easy, so simply, to sneak a knife from the kitchen while they slumbered and snored away upstairs and-

Why had she been so ready to sacrifice herself?

All choices she, the now-Harry, thought she would have taken or done.

So why hadn't she?

The pain of losing Remus and Sirius made the most sense, but even then, it was more on a logical loop than an emotional one. Sirius and Remus had been… Pack, yes, she wanted to say pack, not family, something else, something close, like coven but different, and losing them had been an attack on herself. An attack on herself had been a hit at her survival and right now, survival meant the _most._

But Harry-… Before-Harry hadn't thought that way. She had only felt the pain, no reason or rhyme behind it, and trying to remember exactly _why_ was like trying to remember being a toddler upset over having her favourite toy broken.

Inconsequential now.

A bit shameful in truth.

"But it's muddled. Nothing makes sense. I-… The old me, before I died, she doesn't make any sense."

And then it hit her.

 _Empathy._

It was _gone._

Her empathy, that sappy thing that made it so easy to be in another's shoes was merely gone and it left Harry feeling dizzy and off balance. With it gone, that nagging little voice of feeling, she couldn't make sense of the time she _did_ have it. Like telling someone to hold a ball when they didn't have fucking hands, it just dropped and smashed at her feet.

Maybe it wasn't fully gone, per-say. Harry knew, in a vague manner, if she had been the redhead, she wouldn't have liked being bit. Or, she thought she might not have. It was hard to tell when she hadn't been through it herself. Maybe she should get Viking to-

She thought she wouldn't like it, and for now, that was enough. Perhaps she would ask Viking later. Still, she thought she wouldn't like to get bit, and she thought the redhead had not liked it, so Harry could sympathize to that level at least.

Yet, it was all on rationality, systematically mapped out step by step, thought by thought, not by intuitive sympathy. Harry factually had to sit there and think it through, think it through _hard,_ and she was sure, pretty damned sure at least, _that_ was not something she had to do before.

Her empathy was _gone._

Whatever Jessica felt or wanted meant very little, if not nothing, to her. Not before, definitely not now, and maybe never again. Why would it matter? Harry was hungry. Harry had needed it. If she needed it another time, if she was thirsty and Jessica was there… She would do it all over again.

Sanguini came closer, just a step or two, as he bent down, squatting on his haunches, seizing her attention from the fire and locking gazes with her.

"It's alright, Harry. That's normal. You're looking back with vampiric eyes. Human emotions are hard for us to translate, especially in the beginning. It'll come to you in time. You just have to practice."

Practice?

Now why would she go and do something as silly as that?

Empathy was, arguably, what led her into this mess in the first place. Empathy allowed Dumbledore to mold her into a child soldier. Empathy was what let Tom Riddle get the best of her. Empathy fuckin' let her die.

What had empathy ever done that hadn't taken, stripped or beaten her?

However, neither did she care enough, or have enough energy, to argue with Sanguini. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps one day she would find her way back to the before-Harry. Perhaps one day she would understand. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

but not today.

She knew she was different now, _changed_ , and maybe she would never fully understand the old her, everything was so new and bright and fresh and-… but she understood the Harry that was here right now, and she, well, she only had survival on her mind.

She wanted to _live._

She wanted to burn.

She wanted to fight.

She wanted to feast.

There was an itch, bottomless, scratching and scraping at the inside of her skin, between muscle and bone and-

Merlin, Harry wanted it all.

 _And more._

While Bill, Sanguini, Jessica, Pam and Eric had been watching her, she had been watching _them_ in turn. Pam had deference to Eric, Harry could see it in the way her eyes darted to him before she spoke, almost as if looking for approval or acceptance. Jessica reeked of being young, regrettably tasted like it too, so, she was the last one to worry about.

Sanguini was odd.

Questionably, Harry could smell Sanguini was the oldest here, had tasted it too, and yet, he was outside this sphere. No one looked to him, no one asked him, verbally or with body language, for consent. He was an outsider in this congregation of the dead and therefore, his opinion here meant less than it should have. This showed Harry there was some kind of hierarchy established. A pecking order she now had to find the top of.

And take.

She had to be at the top.

She _needed_ it.

It felt… Right.

 _Natural._

However, she wouldn't be the only one trying to take that spot, would she? Bill and Eric seemed to be in their own little power-tango on their totem pole. This man, Bill, so stern looking, appeared to fall second compared to Eric. Nonetheless, they had brought her to him for a reason.

To exert control over her?

Possibly.

Harry didn't like that.

 _She didn't like that one bit_.

Dumbledore, Snape, Voldemort, they had all tried to control her once and back then, the before-Harry had let them like a shivering lamb being led to the slaughterhouse.

She wouldn't do the same again.

 _Never._

Even So, Eric was the one in command here, _truly_ in control, the head of the snake Harry had to grab by the fang. It was slight, Bill's subjugation to him, almost reluctantly given, but it _was_ there. He gave Eric extra room, eyeballed him every now and again, and when they had steered her back into the front room after the foul smelling one had left, Bill had let Eric choose the first seat.

It was the little things, but Harry spied them like a hawk.

An outright fight was a no-go. Viking had rightfully won last time. By a whisker, but he had all the same. Harry needed to be stronger. To be stronger, she needed better blood than these shit-bags that tasted… Dull? Stagnant? Terrible.

She wanted it fresh.

Straight out the vein.

Warm and heavy and thick on her tongue, sweet with-

To get fresh blood, she presumed she would need Viking on side, or dead so he couldn't stop her again. She was too weak, young, for a fight…

Maybe a gift?

Yes, a gift.

She would give him something he wanted, and he would give her free reign to eat who, when, and where she liked.

Quid-pro-quo.

But what do you get a stranger? First, you find out enough about them to get inside their head. How do you get inside someone's head without them knowing? Legilimency? No, too risky. Eric was old, very old. He would likely feel her prodding…

Bill lightly inched towards her, cautious, a hesitant smile on his face.

"My name's Bill Compton. I'm, well… I'm your-"

"I know who you are. I can feel it."

And she could.

A sense, a shadow, a glimmer of perception in the back of her mind. She could feel it tugging sometimes, positively yanking when she hurled that foul-one at the door, pushing her, telling her what to do and-

Yes, they had brought her here for this one to control her.

Influence her.

Command her.

It _wasn't_ going to work.

She was done being a fucking Horcrux.

"It's going to be okay. There's no need to worry. I'm going to help you get control of yourself."

They must have taken her silence for worry. Bill said it as if he was giving her a gift.

Harry scoffed.

Control wasn't a gift.

It was a shackle.

She snarled.

"Why do I need to control myself?"

Control wasn't fun.

Control didn't give that delicious burn.

Control didn't feel like living.

She detested it.

As her snarl died off in the air, something smooth and heady reached her nose. Lovely, naive, but _ripe._

Arousal.

Swiftly, her eyes zipped to the redhead. Yes, the smell was certainly coming from her. Huh, even after feeding on her, the red head was attracted… _Interesting_.

Eric smirked at her.

"Controlling yourself now and in certain situations can lead you to having what you want, without consequences, later on. Self-discipline is the path to gratification without ramifications. Vampire lesson number one."

Bill glared at Eric.

"Eric! No, Harry. It is important to learn to control yourself because you can hurt other people. You hurt Jessica. You nearly hurt Sookie. You don't want to hurt anyone else, do you?"

She didn't care.

If it gave her what she wanted, what was the problem?

She quite liked the sound of bone snapping…

She had been hungry; Jessica had been there. Sookie had smelled disgusting; she had gotten the smell to go away. She needed to figure out the best way to hunt; those vampires she had torn through had proven most… Informative.

However, Big-Blue-and-Blonde seemed to have a point.

It was all about control.

Who was in control. How they were in control. Why they were in control.

How to _take_ it from them.

It was all about power and keeping it, and if holding off for a second enhanced the end result…

There was only one way to know for sure.

Persuasively, Harry let her lip tremble, a tiny wobble, felt something hot, thick, and wet begin to condense on her lashes, and she made sure to make her voice jolt _just_ so _,_ higher pitched, creaking like stairs she used to listen to when she was locked in her cupboard.

"I-… I-… I'm just so confused… Scared… It all happened so fast… I was alive and then I was in the back of the truck and… The pain… So much pain… I didn't mean it…"

A scrunching of her shoulders, a press in to make herself seem as small as possible, delicate and weak, a sprinkling of trembling to her hands that came up to clutch at herself, hold her arms, hold herself inwards, like a scared child, a tentative gaze to ginger-spice, timid and contrite and-

Snag.

The redhead came closer… Closer… up to Bill… Just… A… Bit… More…

"… I didn't mean to hurt you…"

Sanguini frowned, went to reach for Jessica, but he was too far away as she finally came to a pottering stop in front of Harry, falling to her knees, going as far as reaching out to place her hands on Harry's haggard shoulders.

From this vantage point, through her clean tank top, Harry could see the swell of her breasts, and, pleasingly, the light blue vein dipping into the hem of her shirt. It was still, unlike a humans, which thumped and pounded and beat with their heart.

Vampire's didn't have a heartbeat.

But they did have blood.

Sweet, honeyed-

Jessica stared forlornly at her.

"It's alright. I know you didn't… Mean… To…"

Jessica's words died pitifully between them as she watched Harry's face smooth out. Shudder, sobs, and stooped stature melting away in a wave of predatory elegance. Harry grinned, bright and cool and crisp.

Jessica lurched away, dropped on her arse, scuttling backwards as fast as she could.

Harry wasn't interested.

She glanced to Eric.

"You're right. Control _does_ get me what I want."

Bill sighed as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

Eric laughed.

"That's not self-discipline Harry, that's manipulation."

* * *

 _ **No one's P.O.V**_

Harry frowned at Bill. Resting there, before the fire, haloed in flames, she looked to him and frowned, baffled that there could conceivably be a discrepancy between discipline and manipulation.

"There's a difference?"

"A _big_ difference Harry."

She appeared to contemplate that fact for a moment. Took it in and savoured the possibility. Whatever conclusion she came to, it swept her into movement. Flashing to a stand, she whizzed behind the couch Eric Northman sat on, his jacket sprawled across the arching back of the chesterfield.

"I need fresh air. It still smells of that blonde in here. I'll stay just out front."

Then she was gone, the front door slamming behind her.

Bill seemed to dance on the spot, clipping forward and backwards, rocking, debating on racing after her or letting her think in peace. When he saw her through the large bay windows of the front room, sitting on the stairs of his porch, he stilled his itchy feet.

"I think it's time you leave. This is a family matter."

Eric grinned wolfishly at him.

"Actually, you'll find it falls under _my_ jurisdiction. She's a Dhampir, and therefore poses a threat to the populace of my area. It's in my, and the vampires of Area 8's interest, for me to make sure she settles in and learns our ways. Furthermore, as a Dhampir, it is my honour sworn duty to offer protection and guidance while she's in my area."

Bill stiffened.

"Whatever you want from her, you're not going to get it. We _don't_ need your help"

Eric's teeth glinted in the low light of the living room.

"Why do you think I want to take and not _give_?"

Bill snarled, tensed, ready to lunge, but Sanguini's hand upon his chest, holding him down, halted him.

The older vampire was silent on his feet.

"Perhaps we should all take a break. It has been a long, trying night and emotions are running high. I don't believe any of us are thinking clearly right now."

Silence.

The tick of a grandfather cloak echoing from the hallway.

Eric was the first to nod, as he snatched up his jacket and swing it over his broad shoulders, tugging the hem to straighten the leather on his lanky frame. He paused.

Patted his pockets.

Delved his hands in.

Shuffled about.

They came out empty.

"My phone and keys are is missing."

Harry had stood behind the sofa.

Right where the jacket had been.

The odd way she had delayed to tell them what she was doing…

"Dammit!"

Bill flashed out the house, Sanguini right behind him.

She was sitting on the stairs.

Back to them.

"For fuck sake…"

Sanguini cursed before sending a kick out.

The visage of Harry vanished with a puff, a log rolling down the stairs in her place.

"A transfigured log. Shit."

Sanguini searched his own pockets.

He too came up barren.

"She must have snuck her wand from me too at some point."

Pam nodded to the driveway.

"Eric's car is missing."

And what did the man in question do?

He crossed his arms over his chest, leant on the door frame by his shoulder, kicked one long leg over the other, and smirked at Bill.

"And you said you didn't need my help. Not even in your care for an hour and she's already gone."

* * *

 _ **Harry Potter's P.O.V**_

 _So let's sink another drink, cause it'll give me time to think. If I had the chance I'd ask the world to dance, and I'll be dancin' with myself. Oh oh, Dancing with myself, oh, oh, dancing with myself. Well, there's nothing to lose, and there's nothing to prove, well, Dancing with myself…_

The wind whipped through the open windows of the speeding car, radio blaring deafeningly as Harry hollered along to the lyrics, tapping away at the steering wheel as she zoomed down the country lanes.

She wasn't quite sure which peddle would break the car, but the speed one was absolutely delightful!

It was ingenious really.

Harry wanted to feed and be free.

To do so she needed Viking on side, as he appeared to be top-dog in the area.

She was sure he would get the rest to back off.

To have Viking on side, she needed him to be in her favour.

A gift.

She couldn't probe his mind without being discovered.

However, so many people put their thoughts right into their phones, now, didn't they?

So many messages and conversations, and internet history to scan through…

She glanced to the passenger seat, peeking at the little mobile laying on leather.

Plus, surely he would be thankful when she brought his car back, right?

The messages she had searched through already seemed useless.

A few from someone labelled tits, another with the emoji for a peach for a name, and one from someone called ginger grinch asking about… Court?

His answers were short.

Sharp.

Uninterested.

Photo's turned out to be as futile.

His browsing history all related back to a bar called Fangtasia and tax exemptions for vampires.

Worthless.

And then she saw it.

In the contacts.

Most were named by attributes. Short. Moustache. Glasses. Mole. Teeth… Long neck?

And then there it was.

Just one.

The call log in Eric's phone said he rang the number every night.

For the last five months, it had not been picked up on the other end.

Unlike the others, he was listed with a name.

Eric must respect him.

Perhaps even care.

 _Godric._

The last message Eric had sent to the number had been from yesterday, a threat of turning up to the… Nest? Nest, even if he had to go all the way to Dallas Texas, if this Godric did not pick up the phone the next night.

A name and a location?

It was _almost_ like Viking wanted her to go abduct this Godric for him.

Who put their keys _and_ phone in the same pocket, anyway?

Surely, if she did, and she carted this Godric all the way back to Bon Temps, so he would finally speak to Eric, they would all stop being so fuckin' pissy about the few measly little vampires she wanted to munch on…

She wasn't asking a lot.

Harry thought she was being real fuckin' reasonable, in fact.

Something buzzed.

Harry ignored it.

It continued to buzz.

Sighing, she turned the radio off and picked up the mobile next to her.

She glanced at the screen.

She smirked.

She really was a lucky bastard, wasn't she?

The name Godric flashed on screen.

Harry tapped the green pick-up button.

* * *

 _ **Thoughts?**_

* * *

 **Next Chapter:** Godric has an interesting phone conversation…

* * *

 **A.N:** So, I am possibly the worst fanfiction author in existence. I'll be the first one to hold my hands up to that lol. I know I left this fic hanging for over a year, and there's really no excuse for that, but I did want to say sorry. I've had a bit of a tough, busy year, and writing was difficult for a while. I'm sliding back into the groove of things though, and because I made you all wait so horribly long, here's this monstrous size of a chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!

* * *

 **Chapter Notes:** In Vampire lore, the 'humanity' a vampire loses is often on different levels depending on the story. In some myths, they become completely inhuman, in others, the changes are less, but always, ALWAYS, a vampire loses some part of their old self, whether that be in short-term means or forever.

On this topic, I've taken inspiration from Norwegian vampire mythology. In Scandi folklore about vampires, a vampire would lose their biggest personality trait, normally a virtue, such as innocence, generosity, compassion, kindness, ect.

Arguably, Harry's one true and redeeming trait is his/her empathy. It motives her/him in nearly every choice they took in Potterverse. Me being the sadistic writer I am, when tackling the question of how much humanity Harry, in this fic, should loose, turned my eye to her empathy and liked the idea of it. I've done this for two major reason. One; I really want to see what is left of Harry if his/her empathy is stripped away. Is Harry's empathy the one thing that makes that character who she/he is? If gone, what would replace it? Without it, how far would Harry go? Two; in Scandi folklore about this, after losing that part of themselves, a vampire would actively look for that trait in their victims.

For example, a virgin turned would then go on to hunt other virgins, a priest who gave to the poor would hunt other people who did relief work. I love this mythos because, in a way, it highlights what's so tragic about the vampire as a creature, something that hunts what it once was in an irrational and frantic chase to reclaim that personality trait only, because of what they are now and what they are doing, to never get it back and so the hunt continues.

Nevertheless, as stated in this chapter, this complete lack of empathy isn't a permanent thing. It does ease (Somewhat), as Harry adapts and becomes less survival driven. However, I do want to say, in sticking with Dhampir and Vampire lore, Harry will never return to the exact same person she was pre-transition. We are going to see a darker Harry. If that is not your thing, I'd jump ship lol.

* * *

 **THANK YOU ALL** for the follows, favourites and reviews! This chapter's for you, and I hope, even if it was a single line or word, you found something to smile about. Hopefully, I will see you guys soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER FIVE: The Masochism Tango.**

* * *

 **Godric's P.O.V**

The night was warm and black like blood spilled in dusk. The kind of night that was still bloated with daylight heat, wafting up from cracked pavement, pressing in from all sides, demanding to be heard. Godric, clad only in linen trousers from his recent rising, stood in his personal room, watching out his window.

The gleaming surge of Dallas stared back, a slumping cityscape of radiance and debauchery cresting on the horizon. A city where any man's sins could be fed if one searched hard enough or not at all, and never in-between. Nevertheless, to Godric, none of it brought any sort of joy.

Not like it used to.

He glanced down to the phone in his hand, thumb hovering over the ring button. Even now, he debated. Wavered. He should laugh, he thought. Godric, the vampire once known as death itself… _hesitant._ He _would_ laugh, if he wasn't so completely drowned with apathy lately.

Food was nothing but ash on his tongue. The pleasure he had once delighted in with hunting became sour and brittle. Games, those mental matches he had always indulged in, became pointless. Even sex became an act, a weary wave to ride out, going through the motions to a sweaty unfulfillment that left him wondering what was the point?

Perhaps he should just end-

However, Godric had one thing, only one, that this crushing indifference had not dulled quite yet. His love for his Childe. His Eric. And boy, over the last few nights, wasn't he putting him through the emotional wringer?

For two nights straight, torturously, Godric had been receiving through his Maker-bond a positively writhing emulsion of strange, so very strange, feelings coming from Eric, and, most surprisingly, to a lesser degree, Pam. More remarkably, considering how he kept his side of the Maker-bond subdued and cut off recently, these emotions had been powerful enough to break through his quite impressive mental blocks.

That evening, upon rising to a myriad of emotions filtering in from Eric once more, Godric felt something other than this dreadful stagnation.

 _Curiosity._

Just an ember, barely a spark in the void, but Godric grasped onto it and refused to let go.

What had piqued his Childe's interest so suddenly, so impressively?

Godric pressed the button, as he brought the phone up to his ear. There was only one way to find out, wasn't there? Immediately, he was on edge. The phone rang out for a long while. Odd, considering Eric constantly picked up by the third ring, no later, and never let a call drop. Just before the irritating click of voicemail intercepted the ringing, the line snapped through.

"Hello, love."

And that was definitely _not_ Eric.

The voice was startling. Low, with a warm trail of huskiness corded through the heart of it, smoke and smoulder, with a whiff of energy-… _Inferno_ skulking behind. The English accent of the woman, for it certainly _was_ a woman, was dense, a fortress, educated. Not an erudite voice one gained from high class education, but inflicted by a restraint which hadn't quite demolished the country, cockney perhaps, accent of childhood that bled through with the vowels. It was the type of voice that never did well with a whisper, Godric thought. For it always had a million reasons and more to bellow.

"Where is Eric?"

The line crackled with stillness.

"He's indisposed right now. I'll be sure to pass any message you have across."

Indisposed?

To Godric?

Doubtful.

Godric was sure, if the mood struck, he could ring through daybreak, and Eric would find a way to answer through is death slumber. Neither did Godric like the way the woman said _indisposed_. Drawling. Languid. Pulling the word thin and taut, readying to snap. Almost a tease, really. Beckoning a challenge to her assertion, as if she _wanted_ Godric to argue the point.

He didn't fall for the diversion over a petty tenet.

"What have you done to him?"

She chuckled and it buzzed against his ear like an angry wasp. Godric thought, truly, it was the kind of laughter you could _feel._ It burst forth and spread wide across space, touching everything it could, conquering, sinking into your body to bury itself in your bones like a fang in the neck.

"I find your insinuation insulting. Positively rude, in fact. I have done nothing. Well… There _was_ a little bit of a nibble, but nothing big and blue can't handle. I assume Eric is somewhere back in Louisiana, spitting like a big cat about his missing car and phone."

Fascinating.

She was good with her words; Godric would give her that much. She laid on the excitements generously, trapping with honey, redirecting from the essence. She wanted him to push about that little nibble she described, tried to hook him with it, all the while distracting from the fact she had let slip Eric's car and phone were missing, and seen as she, as she was talking to Godric right now, had his phone, it was only a given she had Eric's car too.

Did she have an aversion to lying? Or, possibly, could she simply _not_ lie?

"And why is his car and phone missing?"

She was good, but Godric was better at the verbal tango, it seemed. She didn't even bother to _try_ and lie. By how swiftly she answered, she didn't even contemplate doing so.

"Because I took them."

Either she saw no point in lying, which meant she had sussed out, already, how quick Godric was at picking people apart mentally like a crow pecked a field of corn clean, and had, in turn, done so to him, or she found it… _Boring_. Better a game to be had in telling the truth, as obscured as they could make it, and still get what they wanted than getting it easily through a lie. Made the win more… Succulent. Godric knew that one personally.

Both were troubling for their own reasons.

 _Both_ sent a lick of heat to his groin.

"And why did you take them?"

Anew, silence drifted along the phone line. Once More, she shocked him by fully jumping track. Wasn't she just a big ball of surprises? This, _her,_ Godric knew, for he knew his Childe intimately, was what had caught Eric's attention these last few nights.

He never did know when not to play with fire.

"I heard it's very sunny in Texas. An unusual place for a vampire such as yourself. You are a vampire, aren't you? Yeah. I can practically _taste_ it. Your kind has a sleekness in the voice. A certainty of self. But Texas? That's _ballsy_. One wrong blind or door and you go up in smoke. So… You must be somewhere well guarded. Inner Dallas city, I think. Somewhere the buildings offer a lot of shade against that dreadfully sunny skyline."

It seemed this night was to be filled with oddities, because, strangely, Godric found a smile threatening to pull at his lips. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled, or felt the urge to, not to ease those around him, but because… Because he _wanted_ to.

Just wanted to.

If Godric was ballsy, as the woman so delicately put, so was she.

"That was a very clumsy attempt at trying to weasel out where I live. If I say yes, you know I am within Dallas. If I say no, too fast and it's a lie, too slow, it's another lie, and if I say it perfectly, you know I'm in the suburbs."

Another chuckle, brighter, biting.

"It was a bit ham-fisted, wasn't it? Can't seem to help myself. Something pops into my head, and out it pops right back out the mouth. Impulse seems to be a problem lately… But, it _did_ work. You didn't say _anything_. You're trying to distract me by looping me into pedantics, and therefore, I hit the nail on the head, didn't I? You're in mainland Dallas."

Godric ran his tongue over his teeth, a keen ache starting up in his gums.

"And why would you want to know where I am?"

No reticence or reluctance.

"You wouldn't believe me if I said Eric wanted me to check up on you, would you?"

Godric… Godric _laughed_. It scorched. It hurt. Twisted in his gut. Foreign and throbbing. And it felt _good._ Really good.

"No, I wouldn't."

A tapping came from the other side of the line, and Godric could picture the woman thrumming her forefinger as she held the phone, banging through her thoughts, drumming through her options. One beat, another idea, a new thump, an alternative notion. She thought like rainfall, Godric suspected, rapidly, in a blitz of creativity and revival.

"It says in the messages on this phone that you have a nest? I'm guessing a nest is like a werewolves pack. How many do you have in your nest? Two? Four? Nineteen?"

Another leap. More telling this time. She had wanted to know where he was. Now she wanted to know how high his nest numbered. She…

She was coming here.

"I have enough."

A click of a tongue smacking lips. Perhaps even swirling over fang. Did her gums ache too?

"Splendid. Middling numbers. Not too large, or you would have bragged. Not to low that you would have lied. Six? Seven? Five?"

She wasn't a vampire if she did not know what a nest was, and compared it to a werewolves pack of all things. Neither was she human. She couldn't be. Too quick on her feet and sharp of tongue. She liked poking sleeping bears too much to have that human survival instinct. And, by all indications, she adored a good game. The sort of games Godric used to love.

It was only fair, he thought, to give her a warning of what prodding _this_ bear entailed. Even if, presently, he wasn't completely who he used to be.

"I know you're trying to come here. I can hear the hum of an engine, Eric's car I assume, through the line. Why else would you need the numbers of my nest? Testing my defence? I can assure you it won't be as easy as you think it is. You do not want to pick this battle, little one."

For she was little. _Young_. No matter what her species was. The jumping in her thoughts and conversation gave her away. Erratic with energy, impossible to stay on one path. A supernova barely erupted. The force of the youth to want to do, say and be everything at once.

How Godric missed those days.

Still, he was older. Wiser. It wasn't a threat he had given her. He quite… Enjoyed this discussion, and with it, the girl with the silver tongue. It would be a shame to end it so soon, end _her_ so soon, if she recklessly decided to attack him or his nest. A caution, as light as can be, she should heed seemed appropriate.

A part of him, some small piece he had thought was long dead, pun not intended, didn't want to her listen at all.

"Do _you_ want a fight? Because it sounds like it. It sounds like it a whole lot, and I _like_ fighting."

That wasn't a threat either. It could be nothing less than a promise. _Try me, and let me try you._ _Who has the bigger appetite?_ _Let's find out. You know you want to._ That fragment of him, primal and ancient, that he thought was long gone reared its head from sleep, gnashing and clawing, trying to reach the surface through the thick blanket of apathy. He didn't notice he was holding onto the window frame with his spare hand until it bent and crunched beneath his pale fingers.

He should hang up.

He should get in touch with Eric and speak to his Childe, tell him what he knew and never look back.

He should end this right now.

This was a dangerous game they were about to play.

A game she likely couldn't fully see.

But he could. Oh, he _could_. And it was glorious _._

He should hang up.

The beast broke to the surface, and it was starving.

"Five in the nest. The address is 411 East Lawther Drive, right by White Rock lake."

She chuckled that whirring laugh that mingled with the whine of the engine echoing in the background. She was picking up speed by the whistle of the wind blowing across the line, pressing her foot to the ground, flooring it.

"Seen as we're both being so very honest, I'm not planning on killing you."

He did smile this time. Sharp.

"I suspect we both know killing is one of the softer things in life."

She answered back both confoundedly appalled and thrilled, as if she couldn't decide whether what she said was a blessing or a curse.

"Oh, I like you."

There was no turning back now.

Godric, uneasily, wasn't sure he wanted to.

The game was on, and neither he, nor she, seemed the type to fold. Yet, there needed to be some ground rules.

"You will not kill any of my nest."

She scoffed at him.

No one had dared scoffed at _him_ in centuries.

He was almost… Proud she had.

Delighted.

"Can't promise that, and we both know it. If they attack me, I _will_ wrench their heads clean off their shoulders. I might even play bongos with their skulls. Depends how much they piss me off."

So, she had the strength to rip a head off, did she? She likely didn't mean to let that slip. That whittled down the table of possibilities quite a lot. Werewolf? No. Too calm for an enraged werewolf. Faeries didn't have the stomach for fighting, forever choosing to retreat and hide. Ghoul? No. You could hear the spittle they dribbled as they spoke. Djinn? She _was_ awfully good at how she worded things, but, again, no. If she was a Djinn, she wouldn't be acting by herself, tethered to the one who caste her into this plane.

"Not Stan or Isabelle."

"How will I know who is who?"

"You'll know."

She gave a drawn-out sigh.

"Fine. Not Stan or Isabelle. But _no_ tricky shit. You can't call in more to your nest and fuck up the numbers you've given me. No moving either. I will find you, and I'll be angry, and that's a terrible way to start our friendship."

Tricky shit.

Tricks.

 _Got you._

"No magic either, little witch."

Silence, floating, and then scorching laughter.

"You _are_ good. What gave me away?"

"Only a Witch or Wizard would be concerned with _tricks,_ being naturally slippery and misleading, themselves. Your laughter too. It crackles like magic in the air."

She hummed.

"You are good, but not perfect. You're only partly right. I bet you're not used to that, are you? Only being _partly_ something. Does it chaff? Does it sting? But, alright. No offensive magic."

She was trying to get under his skin, throw him off with a peppered insult, and, all over again, she was fishing, attempting to get him to bite so he ignored her phrasing.

Eric might have chomped, hot-headed as he was.

Godric didn't.

"No magic at _all_. That's the deal, raindrop. If you want to reach me, you do it with your own _hands_ , not with your wand."

It's intimate. Too familiar. Worst of all, the name came too easily to his lips. _Raindrop_. Back, so long ago, when he was human, in his tribe that was nothing but ash now, forgotten in the history books, names had _power._ You guarded it, kept it close and warm like a newborn at a mother's breast, and you never chose your own. The elders gave it to you when you reached maturity at eleven and could hunt.

They often took their names from nature. Leaf, if a person was flighty or touched by the gods. River, for those of calm disposition. Mountain, for the warriors. Boulder and pebble and twig and bog. They tattooed it onto their skin, to always remember who they were, no matter how far from home they roamed. Only Eric knew his tribal name, before he was captured and sent to Rome as a slave, given the Latin brand of Godric by the master who bought him.

The master who turned out to be a vampire.

The master who ra-

 _No._

He'd only given one name out before. Of course, to Eric. Snowdrift. Dangerous. A sculpture of ice. As cold as it was beautiful. He gave that name two centuries after he turned him. Not on a phone call of all things, seconds after first speaking.

 _Raindrop._

Able to quench a mans thirst as effortlessly as it could flood him out his home and drown him.

It fit, he thought. Fit more than it had the right to.

There was something carnal there that simmered in his chest, a type of heat, like this muggy night, that lingered in the in-between. In the places of silence, amongst one breath and the next, between the cracks and pitch of a gasping voice.

It _burned_.

"I won't need my wand. I'll show you my teeth if you show me yours? I've got a biting problem I've been told."

 _Click._

The impulsivity. The thirst for a good fight. Godric bet too, in person, she was flexible and malleable. Hard to get a tight grasp on. Shadowless too. The inability to outwardly lie because, more often than not, she spoke before she fully formed a plan. Evasive, as she would be in a fight, testing boundaries, pushing them, before she went in for a kill.

 _You're only partly right._

Partly, indeed.

No wonder Eric was in such high unpredictable spirits.

"You're a Dhampir."

A Dhampir. How… Marvellous. Godric had, in his two thousand plus years on this planet, only met three before, one only being a glimpse across a battlefield he and the Dhampir had both wandered across three hundred years ago. So slim in numbers were they. They had to be.

They'd consume the entire earth otherwise.

However, despite his low contact, he had heard of them. Every vampire had, with how equally feared and revered they were. Read extensively on the subject, always a slither entranced with the idea of death birthing some form of life, and what shape that life could take. Brilliant creatures. Tenacious. Ambitious. Bold. When they wanted something, they took it. They lived with everything they had, enjoying each moment, both sour and sweet in equal measure. Finding beauty in the grotesque.

They were also creatures born out of severe trauma and suffering. War bred and hated from birth, their beginnings were always sorrowful and absurdly tragic. Loss and death haunted their every step, and misfortune was never far behind until their unveiling. They didn't turn, turn described _becoming_ something, a Dhampir was always a Dhampir, and if you knew where to look, you could spot them concealed in the flock of sheep. It was nature's way of warning the magpies they had a cuckoo in the nest before it hatched and gobbled the other helpless chicks.

They hid as humans in those first dangerous years of their lives, masquerading with a heartbeat to strengthen themselves before their unveiling, and their unveiling was always… Harrowing. Painful. A complete shed of skin.

Sacrifice.

To be a Dhampir, to have that final unveiling, they had to sacrifice themselves.

Sacrifice themselves the worst possible way.

For love.

Be it for a wife, husband, a child, or even for love itself, a great sacrifice of life to ensure the existence of those that the Dhampir itself loved, it was always betrayed and slain by the one thing all living, and dead creatures, sort.

 _Love._

They would rise stronger for it. Survivor and Dhampir were interchangeable, the latter the epitome of the former. Yet, those it sacrificed itself for would always, _always,_ turn on it. Hunt it. Sequentially, it was the Dhampir's destiny, or doom, to, miserably, kill those it had originally died for.

Mother nature did so adore irony.

"Does that scare you? Afraid I'll _devour_ you?"

Godric did not imagine the suggestive friction laden in the raspy voice. Still, he was sure, it was another bid by the Dhampir to throw him off his seat. A good attempt, and one Godric batted back with ease.

"You'll find I'm more than a mouthful."

A growl that was, feasibly, not entirely proper. Perhaps it had not _only_ been a move to unseat him, at least, not entirely. Vampires were used to speaking in riddles, their collective loaded with underhanded metaphors and subtleties. Threats hiding as platitudes. It was this kind of speech Godric was used to. Dhampir's, on the other hand, were infamously forthright, often to their own detriment. Vulgar and crude, some would say.

It would do Godric well to remember that.

"Promises, promises."

She whistled through the line.

"Would you look at that. State lines coming up. I'll see you soon, Godric. We'll see if you're a man of your word then."

The throbbing in his gums was appallingly prominent, as if he was a fledgling all over again.

"Don't make me wait too long."

The line cut off on a peel of raucous laughter.

A few taps on his phone, and it was ringing once more. Pam answered on the second bell, a little breathless, if a vampire could be such a thing.

"Godric?"

"Hello, Pamela. Where is Eric?"

"He's here and-"

"Put him on, please."

The Dhampir was telling the truth. _Excellent_. As much as he had relished their tit-for-tat, if Eric had, in any way, shape or form, been permanently hurt… She would not have survived stepping into Dallas. A rush of wind blew across the line as the phone was passed.

"Godric? It has been too long. Are you alright?"

Eric spoke with a voice hushed like a prayer, full of reverence only the faithful knew, sliding back into his native Scandi tongue. _Surprise_. He sounded surprised. He had reason to. Godric had not answered his calls, nor rang himself, for… For months.

Godric had done this.

Created this… Chasm.

 _No more._

"I am fine, Childe. It is you I should be asking about. You've been… _Loud_ these last few nights."

Eric chuckled.

"It has been a busy few nights. I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but you would not guess what I've come across."

A Dhampir. Godric knew this, as he knew, unlike Eric, she was currently stealing away in his car, on her way to him to… Well, to wherever this game led. Godric said nothing, and let Eric persist.

"A Dhampir is in my area. Though, she's gone on a… Walkabout, should we call it."

"You're looking for her?"

Eric sighed.

"Trying to. She's extremely good at hiding her tracks. Sanguini, the vampire who brought her to my area, says she is skilled at gorilla warfare. She was on the run from her government for most of her teenage years and won a civil war by the time she was sixteen, despite the numbers not being in her favour. Do you know what her old kind called her? You'll like this."

Eric let the tension simmer, always one to draw out the fun he found.

"Master of Death."

A flare of fire in the bottom of his gut, a wrench of muscle. Godric only noted he growled when Eric cut him off with a snicker.

"I thought _that_ would pick your interest."

Enough.

"I tried to ring your phone earlier."

Eric hummed.

"Minx nabbed it from my pocket, along with my car keys. She's good, even with how young she is."

Ultimately, Eric sniffed the crumb Godric had dropped.

"Did she answer? Did you speak to her? Pam and Compton have tried ringing on and off for the last few hours, but she's blanking the calls. Even picked up Compton's just to say fuck off, and then hung up."

That was why she was heading his way? It was never really about _him._ Not in the beginning, though Godric may have plucked at her curiosity through the call. This was about _Eric._ She must have gone through his phone, spotted Godric's name, tied up all the pretty little clues to understand Godric meant, in any case _something_ , to the Scandinavian vampire.

She said she had no plan on killing him. Godric, from all the truth she had spoken, doubted she would lie about this, and so, this, whatever _this_ was, wasn't to harm Eric by killing his maker. In fact-

 _Oh… You clever, clever girl._

Godric was a _gift_. She was young, Eric only confirmed his suspicions, but she had mapped out the hierarchy in Louisiana already. She spotted Eric on top, and in the vampiric world, you either killed or purchased your way to the crown. Too young to win a fight with a thousand-year-old vampire, she had gone with the only other alternative she could see.

Godric went to answer…

"No. The call went straight to voicemail."

And lied.

Eric would understand.

Godric liked playing with fire too.

Why did he lie?

No one was in harms way. The Dhampir wasn't attacking outright, more like a… Cub honing their stalking skills, pouncing through the grass. It would be a shame to cut off her lesson so soon. And because, perhaps, of that hot, wriggling knot in his gut, the promise of a good fight hanging in the air, that flash of the vampire he used to be flickering back, and for once, just once, apathy wasn't choking him.

If he told Eric she was currently driving right towards him headfirst, Eric would demand to be there, no matter if there was no real threat to his Maker. Master of Death… How well had she earned her title? Godric knew how he had gained his…

Furthermore, he _had_ promised not to call in more to his nest, hadn't he?

Who was he to break his word so brazenly?

Eric, once more, sighed.

"Shame. I really do think you would like her if you met her. She has a sharp tongue and a sharper mind."

He was sure he would find out very soon. Perhaps in a night, if the Dhampir was swift. Godric hoped she was. He found himself… Impatient.

"I will leave you to your search."

"Godric…"

There was a pleading note in Eric's tone, a pitch of begging, a solemn sound Godric had not heard for many centuries. The warmth in his gut was gone, replaced with bitter beads of self-deprecation. Eric was his Childe. _His Childe._ He should never have to beg to speak to him, and yet, here they were.

Never again, he vowed.

Godric smiled softly and thought, sincerely, Eric could feel it from the other side as the blockades in the Maker-bond came tumbling down from his side. A breath of shock. A burst of unadulterated joy from Eric. Hot and sizzling and scorching. It burned away the vestiges of wintry apathy.

"I will call tomorrow night. I have been… Remiss of my duties these last few years. For that I am sor-"

Eric cut him off sharply.

" _Don't_. You don't have to apologize. Not to me. Not ever. I'll…"

There was so much to say, things that could never be placed in such brief constrictions such as words, and so, they didn't speak. Not for a long while. They only _felt_ , an ebb and flow, a gush and fade.

A knock on his chamber door broke the moment.

"I'll speak to you soon, Eric."

A quick goodbye, and Godric hung up. After a soft enter was given, Isabelle poked her head through the door, not daring to enter Godric's personal space more than she needed to. He had always been a little… Territorial. Possessive, Eric would call it.

"Godric? Is there anything I can get you?"

She must have heard him on the phone, and as usual, came to offer a drink. Typically, if he did not refuse any food, Godric requested a stale True Blood, downed the swill, and moved on. He knew the motions well. However, the thought churned. Whipped in his chest. On Occasion, you only noticed you were trapped in fog after leaving it and gulping in fresh, clear air.

Godric found he had been lost in fog for a long, long, long time.

Now, free and fresh, he was _ravenous._

Blood would be a good place to start.

Plus, it was only fair to the Dhampir if he met her at his best.

"AB-. Human. As fresh as you can get it, please."

Isabelle blinked her surprise at his request, but smiled brightly. However, before she could dip back behind the door to find his meal, Godric called her back.

"Isabelle? I want you and Stan to test the nest defenses. Any weak points I want tightened by tomorrow night. Add a new layer too. A witch ward."

She frowned, perplexed, on edge instantly at the mention of a witch. Their kind was, after all, notoriously anti-vampire.

"Are we expecting an attack?"

Godric shook his head.

"No. I have a… Guest coming. I thought she might enjoy a challenge to sharpen her claws with."

No less confused, but placated by Godric's answer, Isabelle nodded and left. In the dark of his room, he turned back to his window.

A whole new world glistened back.

* * *

 **NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW:**

Godric found their bodies in the kitchens. Four of his five nest-mates, motionless on the linoleum, silver knives dug between the third and fourth vertebrae of the neck. Not enough to kill a vampire, but the silver halted their recovery, leaving them paralyzed on the floor. They would heal as soon as the knives were taken out.

Blood was sprayed on the floor in drops like stars on a constellation atlas, speckled with comets. They were huddled and lumped by the kitchen cabinets at the far right, a heap of bodies, and, there, by the third's foot was a different mark, a spread, a _drag._

They had been moved there, Godric knew. Hauled and placed meticulously to look as if they had all fallen in the same spot, perhaps fighting the same assailant, but nonetheless had not. The Dhampir must have forgotten to clean that mark up before they splattered the room to look like a battlefield.

Godric strolled into the dimly lit kitchen, stayed close to the left, and crossed his arms over his chest, cocking a brow as he glanced to the highest cupboards lining the wall, right above the pile that was, in truth, a lure.

"I know you are in there, little one. I told you this won't be so easy."

The creak of hinges echoed in the dark, as the cupboard door right above the heap arched open. Astonishingly green eyes glowed from the depths, the Dhampir having bent and screwed themselves tightly into the small space, only capable due to its astounding plasticity.

It was the perfect spot to pounce on him if he had, as she likely planned, gone to release his nest-mates from the silver daggers in their necks.

Honestly, he _almost_ had, if he had not spotted that mark by the boot.

She unfurled from the cupboard, one pale hand, a softer calf, sliding to the floor barefoot, bloodstained, with the grace of a spider descending from their web, listless opulence of a marauding predator. She grinned beneath a tangle of onyx curls.

"Hello, love."

* * *

 **Woo or Boo?**

 **A.N:** So the world is kind of scary right now. And, while I know this isn't a lot, I do hope, if you're like me and in self-isolation, something, even one line in this chapter, made you smile and forget the mess we are all currently in. I wasn't going to publish this chapter for another couple of weeks, as there are a few bits I am iffy on and wanted to tweak, but not perfect as it is, I thought publishing something was better than nothing. On that, I hope you are all safe too, and your families, and that, despite the chaos, you are all doing well and having fun.

 **Thank you** for all the lovely reviews, they've really brightened my days these last few weeks, and truly, thank you. Hopefully, I will see you guys soon.


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